If You're Lonely, Press Play
by Pixiestick-cc
Summary: Two friends find a way to communicate through nearly impossible circumstances (post-canon)
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note**: Yes, I ship them and was disappointed when there wasn't some sort of romance recognition at the end of 'Over the Garden Wall'. Their back and forth was very romantic-comedy-ish. I like to imagine that what separates them is something similar to different dimensions that possibly can be crossed over, at least that's how I see it to help benefit my story.

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><p>Beatrice was looking out the parlor window again, a habit she had picked up in the last few days. Much to her relief, none of the members in her large family commented on this new pastime she indulged in, because they were all too busy rediscovering life back in their original bodies. She too was enjoying the perks of having fingers, toes, and pale pink skin dotted with freckles, freckles she had almost forgotten about when there were blue feathers covering her, but mostly, since using the witch's scissors to transform herself and her family human again, Beatrice simply wanted to stare out the window.<p>

"Wishing you were a bird again?" The voice that surprised Beatrice, causing her to jump up slightly from the chair she sat in, was being facetious. It was a well-known fact to everyone that this was not true. No one missed eating worms and dirt. Well, maybe her youngest brother did, but he wasn't the voice of the majority.

Beatrice ignored her mother's tease and continued to look at the scenery just outside the windowpanes. It was inevitable that this would happen sooner or later. Beatrice knew that someone would finally mention her long periods of gazing, but why did it have to be now? She wasn't ready to admit anything to anyone. With a sliver of hope pushing against her heart, Beatrice imagined her mother walking away. Maybe if she wished hard enough it would happen.

_Please, please leave me alone._

"Is it that boy? The one from the tree?" Her question was more pointed this time and conveyed a mother's intuition.

"No," Beatrice grouchily replied, even though she knew it was a lie.

She hadn't told her mother, or anyone for that matter, about Wirt and his brother … about what she had gone through with them. But they had briefly met the older sibling of the two boys she had journeyed with and eventually befriended. It was assumed she was the one who had brought _that boy_ to their tree during a snowstorm, although there had never been any outright admission to this assumption held by her family. Beatrice never answered them when they asked, choosing to keep quiet about Wirt and Gregory. Her feelings of loss were very strong and she anticipated that talking about her friends would only make that feeling swell inside her until it became too much to bear. It already felt like it was too much.

Her mother came up to stand beside the chair Beatrice occupied, but that stubborn streak she had displayed so well as a child had only grown stronger in Beatrice's adolescence and the girl refused to turn away from the window. She didn't want to give her mother the satisfaction. Although, there was a deeper hidden truth that kept her facing forward. It was the truth Beatrice worried was very apparent on her face. The truth she didn't want her mother to see. That she missed them. She missed _him_.

A gentle hand came to rest upon Beatrice's shoulder and she did her best to ignore the childish urge to shrug away. "If you ever feel the need to tell me what it is you are thinking of when you stare outside like this then I'll -"

"I know, I know," Beatrice rudely cut her off. "You'll be there to listen." She waved her hand flippantly at her mother, still refusing to even give her a glance.

From the corner of her eye, she caught her mother nodding and then slowly the older woman turned to leave, but before she could make a step in the opposite direction, guilt began to work its way through Beatrice's body. She wasn't treating her mother very kindly and that little awakening she had experienced while with the two brothers, realizing how cruel she could be to others, was rearing its head.

She had thrown a rock at a bird for goodness sake. If that wasn't mean spirited than what was? Certainly the witch who had turned Beatrice into a bird for her animal cruelty thought that character trait of hers deserved to be cured with a good lesson. Although, becoming the same creature as the one she had tortured wasn't what had truly transformed her. It had been her new friends. They were the ones that pushed her to see the truth and eventually gave her the courage to change. Swallowing her pride, Beatrice grasped her mother's arm to keep her from leaving. "I'm-I'm sorry, but I'm not ready to talk about … _that boy _yet or his brother."

"Oh, he had a brother?" Her mother inquired with a renewed interest and Beatrice instinctively furrowed her brow, before realizing she was being rude again.

"If only I'd had more time with them. I miss him. I miss them both," she replied, forcing away the scowl that had taken over her face.

Truthfully she had never had very many friends before and it had taken her time with Wirt and Gregory to recognize why. She was rude and bullied others. In fact, she had been unkind to Wirt at first and the regret Beatrice felt for that would probably stay with her forever. But she wasn't like that anymore. She hoped she wasn't like that anymore.

"I assume, since we haven't seen him since that day, he must have gone away. Why don't you try and write to him?" her mother suggested.

"It's not that easy," Beatrice mumbled. Yeah, having him disappear over the wall into a place she couldn't follow definitely meant there was no way to send letters.

"Well, if you don't want to write to him, then why don't you write to yourself?"

Beatrice skeptically raised an eyebrow. "What does that even mean?"

"You can write how you're feeling in a letter and not send it. Keep the letter. Maybe it will help you feel better if you transfer your emotions out onto paper, instead of keeping them locked up inside."

What her mother said made sense, but that didn't stop Beatrice from replying sarcastically, "Okay."

There was a gentle squeeze on the girl's shoulder from her mother as she replied, "It was only a suggestion."

"Yeah, go write your beau. I'm sure he wants to hear from you. He must miss you so much." The voice that had intruded on Beatrice's very private conversation with her mother was that of her brother. She had so many that it was hard to recognize whose voice belonged to who at times and Beatrice was forced to twist in her seat to see the culprit with a smirk on his freckled face.

"Shut up, you idiot!" She pulled one of her hands up and curled it into a fist, threatening the teasing brother with it, but he only made kissing noises in response, causing Beatrice to jump from her chair to enact revenge.

Later when she was in her room, sent there as punishment for the bloody noise she had given her brother, Beatrice stared at the piece of paper she had pulled out and laid on her desk. In her hand was a pencil. Her fingers kept bringing the writing tool closer to the paper and then pulling it away at the last second. "What am I so nervous about?" She rolled her eyes at her dithering and then finally pressed the led down against the paper.

_Dear Wirt,_

_So, how is your dumb face?_

Beatrice quickly crossed out the sentence and crumpled the paper into a ball. Sarcasm didn't always translate well into written words and even if she wasn't actually writing Wirt, Beatrice thought she should be kind and also honest, something she hadn't always been with him. After a few more false starts, Beatrice finally decided to start out her letter being as honest as was possible for her.

_Dear Wirt,_

_I miss you._


	2. Chapter 2

_'Cause you're not resolved_  
><em>In your heart, you're waiting for me<em>  
><em>To improve<em>  
><em>Right here<em>  
><em>When I'm lonely, I press play - Damon Albarn<em>

Wirt waited at the bus stop, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. It was close to Thanksgiving and the weather was getting colder in the little northeastern town he had moved to with his mom eight years ago. He was actually surprised that it hadn't snowed yet. The last of the leaves on the trees had already fallen off and now it was just a waiting game. Waiting for winter. Unfortunately Wirt had forgotten his gloves at home when he had left the house. He would have gone back to get them if he didn't think it would cause him to miss Gregory's bus.

It was his job most afternoons to pick up his younger brother at the bus stop and walk him home. High school dismissed earlier than elementary in the town he lived in and since his parents worked well into the evening, Wirt was tasked with waiting for his brother. It was something he used to protest constantly. Why was it his job to babysit him? Greg was seven and perfectly capable of making the short walk down the block to their house on his own. Although, in hindsight, he knew what a jerk he'd been for even saying that before. Now he had first-hand experience with the trouble a seven year old could actually get into if left to his own devices. Wirt had learned that the hard way, but he tried not to think about what might have happened if he and Beatrice hadn't found Greg in time to rescue him from the beast. A shiver traveled down his spine that wasn't a product of the cold.

To distract himself, Wirt brushed his fingers across the hard plastic of the cassette tape taking up space in the same pocket as his right hand. Sara had given it back to him earlier that day at lunch and he sighed at the memory. Who knew that you could pine away for the same girl year after year, only to discover that your idea of that person was much greater than reality? It had ended amicably. They were still friends, just not compatible when it came to dating, which was weird, because before their brief stint as a couple, he couldn't think of anyone more perfect for him. He'd chalk it up to a life lesson. Your expectations didn't always match up with reality. That phrase would be written inside his journal later that night along with some lines of poetry. Even if it really hadn't bothered him all that much when Sara brought up the subject of being just friends, because honestly he'd been thinking the same, Wirt figured there was probably some teenage angst inside him to work out through verse. It would be embarrassingly sappy poetry that he'd never show anyone and Wirt involuntary blushed at the thought of someone actually reading the words he penned on a nearly daily basis.

With a glance around at the few adults standing near him waiting for their kids, Wirt pulled the hood of his jacket further over his head to cover the blush he could feel spreading on his face at the thought of others reading his nerdy poetry. He sighed softly in relief at the sight of Greg's bus coming down the road and when his brother came bouncing down its steps a few seconds later, the two grasped hands for the short walk home.

"How was school?" Wirt asked.

"Oh, you know how it is," his brother replied in a no nonsense kind of way, causing Wirt to chuckle

"Well, not really. It's been about nine years since I was in first grade, so I might need a reminder."

Greg went through a list of things that sounded very common for someone his brother's age to be doing at school and then some not so common things that Wirt figured were exaggerations of the truth sprung from his brother's active imagination. "And then I went to art and the teacher told us we had to draw a turkey, because Thanksgiving is next week, but I decided to draw Beatrice, because she's a bird just like a turkey. I got in trouble, but I thought Beatrice was prettier and I didn't care what Miss March told me to do. If she knew Beatrice she would want me to draw her instead of a dumb turkey." Greg stopped walking and removing his hand from Wirt's, he pulled the drawing he was referring to from his backpack. "See, isn't it better than a turkey? Do you think Beatrice will like it?"

"Sure Greg. I'm sure if Beatrice could see it she would think it was nice." Wirt humored his brother, knowing that he had no idea what Beatrice would think and had no way of finding out either. Although, he liked to imagine that she'd appreciate the portrait Greg had drawn of her.

"Can we go and give it to her?"

And there it was. Wirt had been expecting it … the inevitable plea from Greg to visit Beatrice. It had been nearly a month since the two of them had parted ways with her, and no matter how many times he told his little brother that it was impossible to visit anyone they had met on their little _journey_ over the garden wall, he still continued to ask. "I-I don't think that's possible, Greg. Why don't we just put it on the fridge when we get home?"

Gregory's face fell and he tucked the picture into his backpack again. Usually he argued and came up with some absurd idea on how they could get back to her, but this time it was as if the realization finally struck him. For some reason this bothered Wirt more than the near constant begging. Greg was always so hopeful, never accepting that he couldn't accomplish the impossible and the image of the opposite was similar to seeing the light leaving his brother's eyes. It reminded Wirt of being in the forest with the beast and he didn't like that memory at all. "Hey, Greg. I think I have an idea on how we can get your picture to Beatrice," Wirt suddenly said and Greg lit up instantly.

"Really?" His mouth and eyes grew wide with excitement.

"Yeah," Wirt replied, knowing full well his idea wouldn't work, but at least it was something that might give his brother hope. Hope was something he wasn't willing to see leave Greg. "But we have to hurry to make it back before mom and dad get home."

Wirt took off running, going at a pace his brother could follow and before long they were at the cemetery in front of the wall where everything had begun. "Go ahead and leave it for her," Wirt instructed Gregory.

"What, just put it down?" the younger brother asked.

"Yeah, we can't see Beatrice, but this wall allows us to send stuff to her. Important stuff, and there's nothing more important than your drawing of her." Wirt tried his best to sound convincing even though he was lying through his teeth.

Luckily for him, Greg was as gullible as your typical seven year old was and he laid his art down against the wall. "What about you? Why don't you have anything for Beatrice?"

"Um … well, I actually _did_ bring something for her," Wirt replied, fishing out the tape he'd made for Sara from his pocket. "It's a mixtape, filled with songs I thought Beatrice would like."

"How will she know it's for her? It doesn't say her name?" Greg asked. "You have to put her name on it."

Writ slapped his forehead, faking the revelation his brother had given him, glad Greg hadn't asked the more obvious question of how Beatrice could play the cassette if her side of the wall didn't have tape players. At least Wirt didn't think they did. "Ha. How could I forget? Thanks little brother." Wirt ruffled Greg's hair.

"Here you can use my pencil and paper." Wirt's brother handed him the items, pulling them from his backpack and then waited with anticipation written across his face for Writ to do something with them.

"Okay, here goes." Wirt put the pencil to paper, using his hand as a flat surface to write on and then he read out loud as he composed. "Dear Beatrice. If you're lonely press play to listen to these really cool songs. Love, Wirt." He crossed out the word love, only keeping his name, thinking the term would be too sappy for Beatrice. He could actually see her bird eyes rolling at the sight of it. Wirt's quick revision went unnoticed by Gregory, but it didn't matter anyway. Beatrice wouldn't actually be receiving the tape. Wirt would come back to the wall in the morning and retrieve it along with Greg's drawing. His brother wouldn't be any the wiser. "There." Wirt folded the tape into the note and laid it next to Greg's gift to Beatrice. "Now she'll know both of us are thinking of her."

Greg beamed and Wirt was glad he'd come up with this idea for his brother's sake. It was a little like writing Santa, but what Greg didn't know wouldn't hurt him. "Okay, let's get out of here before it gets dark. Cemeteries at night give me the creeps," Wirt said as he took Greg's hand and the two headed back home.

That night Greg said nothing to his parents about that afternoon's trip to the cemetery. After their initial return from the other side of the wall, Wirt had instructed Greg to keep quiet about what had happened. "They won't understand and they'll think we're crazy. Let's keep this our little secret, okay?"

"Okay," Greg had agreed nonchalantly, like it was no big deal and since that day only the two brothers ever mentioned the events, or in Greg's case, pestered Wirt to go back and visit Beatrice, something he didn't think was possible. A decision had been made to go home and Wirt felt in his heart that there was no going back to the place where Beatrice was.

The next morning, Wirt dressed in a hurry and when he rushed past his mom in the kitchen, only grabbing a granola bar for his breakfast, she took notice. "Don't you think you should have a little more than just that?"

"Sorry, got to run … I'm, um … meeting Sara. We're going to walk to school together," Wirt lied, knowing his deceptions were starting to stack up.

The corner of his mom's mouth twitched upward as she fought a smile and Wirt turned around, trying his hardest to hide the blush creeping up his neck and onto his face. He and Sara were no longer a couple, but it was the only excuse Wirt could use that he knew his mom wouldn't protest. She liked Sara and her awkward son had finally started dating much to her relief. "Okay, but wear your gloves. It's too cold to walk to school without them."

"Sure," Wirt replied, still not looking at her.

"Tell Sara I said hi," he heard his mom say as the door leading outside closed behind him.

Wirt was skipping the bus and it would take him longer to get to school just using his feet, not to mention the little detour he would be taking to the cemetery, so he ran until his legs could no longer stand it. When he finally reached the wall where he and Greg had left their gifts for Beatrice the day before, Wirt had to take a moment to catch his breath. He bent over and pulled air in and out of his lungs a few times in rapid succession. Finally when he had gained control over his breathing, Wirt straightened up and went to grasp the picture and cassette tape. Only they weren't there. His heart instantly fell into his stomach at the thought that someone had taken his tape and was at that moment listening to the embarrassing poetry and clarinet he had performed in between songs.

_Oh, god. Anything, but that_

Before he could spiral into a full on panic attack though, his eyes caught sight of an envelope in a spot near the place where the tape and drawing should have been. Reaching out, Wirt grasped the white rectangle of paper and brought it up to better see. The front contained only four words written in perfect cursive:

_To Wirt_

_From Beatrice_


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note**: I realize that the consensus in the fandom is that The Unknown was really just impending death for Wirt and Greg, but in my fic I want to treat it like different world/dimensions. It would be a lot more difficult to have Wirt and Beatrice end up together if she was actually dead. Also thanks again for your support for this fic. Knowing others are enjoying it pushes me to continue.

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><p>Beatrice had written five letters to Wirt over the course of a week, before she decided it simply wasn't enough to quiet her loneliness. The emotions she had laid out on paper for her imaginary Wirt to read were raw and exposed a part of her that she had never been willing to share with anyone before, but Beatrice also felt there was something else to be done. What exactly that something else was she wasn't sure, but writing just wasn't enough.<p>

The idea eventually came to her one evening during dinner. She had been ignoring the others around her, thinking about _him_ again, when a memory whispered a plan into her ear. Then once her dinner was finished, Beatrice asked to be excused, ran upstairs to retrieve a few items from her room, and then opened the front door to leave. "I'm going out for a little bit," she told anyone within earshot, but of course, it was only her mother who responded.

"So late? What could you possibly need to do at this time?"

Beatrice slowly turned around, but still held the door open as a way of conveying her intent to leave no matter what her mother said. "Don't worry about me. I promise to be back before dark."

A few seconds ticked by while the older woman considered Beatrice's words before she finally sighed her reply, "Well, make sure to bring George. He'll protect you."

Beatrice sent a sidelong glance to the family dog lounging on a rug near the fireplace. He was a Great Dane who could barely chase a squirrel without falling flat on his face and there was no way _that_ animal was going to protect her. Beatrice also took offense to her mother implying that she couldn't take care of herself and had to rely on an inept dog for protection. Still, if it was the only concession she had to make in order to leave without an argument, then it wasn't such a bad one. Her mother insisting she bring George was better than her recommending a chaperon in the form of a brother. Considering what she planned to do, Beatrice would definitely take a dog who couldn't comment on the situation over a sibling with a long history of teasing.

Sticking two fingers into her mouth, Beatrice produced a loud whistle that alerted George and he instantly jumped up on all fours. "Come here, boy!" she called enthusiastically and the family pet quickly came running up to lick her face. "Gross," she scolded him, but secretly Beatrice enjoyed the dog's expression of love.

"Before the sun goes down," she heard her mother's stern, but loving reminder.

Beatrice held back the retort that was playing on the tip of her tongue, knowing her mother's anxiety was rooted in the fact her eldest daughter had disappeared once before after saying she was only leaving for a short walk outside. "I promise not to do anything that will get us all turned into birds, but if I do for whatever reason, I also promise to come right back here and admit my mistake." Beatrice made light of the curse in an attempt to put her mother's worries to rest.

She knew it had worked when the older woman softly laughed, "Yes, do try not get us turned into birds again. I've grown accustomed to having fingers and I rather like them."

"Yeah, same here." Beatrice sent her mother a reassuring smile and then walked outside with George following behind.

Her destination wasn't far and the thought of that caused a little sensation of guilt to press against Beatrice's newly developed conscience, reminding her of her past wrongdoings. She had known from the start that it was the garden wall Wirt and Gregory had been searching for and when she came to their aid it really wasn't to be helpful at all. To be helpful would have meant choosing the short path through the woods that would have led the brothers to their destination. Beatrice knew the way. She had been to the wall countless times before considering it was so close to her home, but for her own selfish purposes, she had led them astray. If she hadn't gotten involved in their lives then perhaps they would have found their way home sooner, without so many mishaps, and near death experiences. An apology for her part in their excessive wandering was written in one of the letters to Wirt. Beatrice had spent a long time finding just the right words for that one and it would be the first she would read once her and George arrived at the wall.

As she walked along, the memory that had spoken to her while she ate dinner, briefly played in Beatrice's head. She and Wirt had been forced together, locked inside a wardrobe, when he admitted that he sometimes recited poetry to himself. The confession had sounded weird to her at the time and honestly still did, but maybe if it helped him work through his issues, then it could do the same for her. "Aw cheese and crackers this is going to be so awkward," Beatrice mumbled to herself and George looked up at her. "Sorry, but you wouldn't understand. Human stuff," she explained to the dog and he barked back a response. "You're telling me," Beatrice replied, not having the faintest idea what George was trying to say.

The sun was starting to inch closer towards the horizon and knowing her time was limited, Beatrice began to speed up her pace, while George ran ahead as if taunting her with his ability to move faster. "Well, you aren't wearing a dress!" she yelled after him.

When Beatrice finally reached the wall and sat down against it, her heart sank a little, because she knew there was only time to read one letter. With a sigh, she resolved to come back tomorrow after school and try again. "Hey, George I thought I saw a squirrel over there," she told her dog, but he just stared at her blankly, his tongue hanging from the side of his mouth. "Look at this, George. Look!" Beatrice picked up a stick and waved it in front of his face. "Go get it," she ordered after hurling the wood away. He went after it, but didn't return. George wasn't one to play fetch and Beatrice knew this. He would find something else to distract himself with which was what she had wanted all along. Reading her words to Wirt out loud was embarrassing enough without George staring her down with his judging eyes. "Goodbye George, don't come back too soon," she whispered with a nervous giggle.

Once he was out of sight, Beatrice reached down to pull up the bottom of her dress to reveal the loosened hem on the other side. Inside were four of the five letters she had brought along. It hadn't been an easy feat, rolling the papers tight enough and then tying them with string to keep that shape, but it had been her only recourse. Coming down the stairs holding the letters for everyone to see was a risk she wasn't willing to make. If one of them had fallen into the hands of any of her brothers … she shuddered at the thought. Her reputation would have been ruined and everyone would know that Beatrice was really a sap … or at least she was when it concerned Wirt and Greg.

A quick look through the pile revealed that none of envelopes contained the letter she wanted to recite and in one swift movement, Beatrice reached down into the front of her blouse to produce the remaining letter. "There you are," she said, and opened the envelope. The first words that began her message to Wirt stared back at her and Beatrice was unable to fight the sudden surge of stage fright.

Closing her eyes, she pulled in a lung full of the cold autumn air and then let it out with a loud whoosh. "Dear Wirt, I miss you." Her voice was shaky, but after a few more times of rehearsing the words she could still see behind her lids, a tiny amount of courage began to work its way through her system. Finally the nervousness subsided and Beatrice was able to open her eyes again, ready to face the entire letter. Only instead of seeing her written words, she saw George's wet tongue slopping his saliva all over the paper. At first Beatrice screamed in surprise, but then promptly chided her dog by saying, "You dummy," before moving the creature aside. "Yuck," she complained as her hand gently shook off the drops of slobber from the paper. "I hope you didn't ruin this."

George didn't seem to care about Beatrice's irritation and went to lay down at her side. She in return rolled her eyes at him as her hand continued to move her letter in a back and forth motion, but Beatrice stopped suddenly when her eyes caught sight of a different piece of paper laying on the skirt of her dress. It didn't belong with any of her letters, but like the one she held, it was covered in dog saliva. There was so much of it that Beatrice assumed George had carried the paper in his mouth at some point. "George, what's that?" she asked him, as if he could answer. Her dog lifted his head and panted in reply. "Ugh, you're useless," Beatrice muttered and then reached for the wet paper

As Beatrice gently shook it, something hard fell onto the ground with a thunk and she reached down to pick it up. The item was a small rectangle about the size of her hand. There were two holes in the center and on closer inspection, Beatrice saw that these holes contained tiny teeth. For a brief moment Beatrice worried that the thing might bite her.

_Don't be silly. It's obviously dead … or maybe it was never alive._

She wondered if the piece of paper it had been wrapped in might hold a clue to what the mystery object was, and Beatrice turned her attention back to it. With gentle hands, she unfolded the wet paper and read the words that were thankfully still visible despite copious amounts of dog drool.

_Dear Beatrice, If you're lonely press play to listen to these really cool songs. Love, Wirt_

Instantly Beatrice was on her feet. "Wirt?" she called out, but the only answer she received was a loud bark from George. "Where did you find this? Take me there!" Beatrice demanded and for probably the first time ever in his dog life, George did as he was told.

The area wasn't far and when Beatrice arrived she bent down to pick up another piece of paper. The first had been a short note from Wirt along with a device that must have been common where he was from. The second was a child's drawing of a bluebird with the words _To: Beatrice, From: Greg_ written underneath the picture. "Greg," Beatrice whispered and she trailed her fingers over the bluebird. They weren't here were they? No, they couldn't be. Was she going crazy? "How is this possible?" she asked George, because he was the only one there.

Slowly, with Greg's drawing in one hand and Wirt's note in the other, Beatrice returned to the spot where she had been before and then sank to the ground, afraid if she stood for much longer that her light headedness would do her in. "If they left something for me … maybe, maybe I can leave something for them?" she thought out loud. Then reaching up with her hand, Beatrice touched the wall, wondering if the barrier between them wasn't so concrete after all. Maybe she could still communicate with them. "That's the dumbest thing you've ever said," Beatrice admonished herself and George seemed to agree with a bark.

Still …

Pulling up the letter she had been planning on reading, Beatrice stared at it for a long moment. "It couldn't hurt to leave this for Wirt. I could come back tomorrow and if the letter is still here then I'll know that I must be losing my marbles or … if it's gone, I might not be totally separated from them like I thought." George replied with a sloppy lick to her face and instead of showing her disapproval like usual, Beatrice wrapped her arms around his neck. "Thanks for finding this, George."

When she pulled away, Beatrice noticed the sun was nearly set and quickly gathered all her letters and placed them back into her hem … all except one. That letter was placed in the same spot she had found Gregory's drawing. With any luck there would be no need to read it out loud after all, because the one Beatrice had written it for would be able to read it himself.


	4. Chapter 4

Wirt skipped the cafeteria after the lunch bell rang indicating it was time for all sophomores to eat. He'd planned to take a walk around the school instead to clear his head, but when his hand pushed open the door leading outside a blast of cold air hit him in the face.

_Oh yeah, cold._

His brain had been swimming since that morning and thinking straight wasn't something he appeared to be capable of anymore. Wirt closed the door and decided he'd rather head back to his locker than go into a packed lunchroom. He really wasn't hungry anyway. His stomach was being affected by the same distortion his brain was. It was an excitement along with trepidation and above those two there was an all-out confusion over how Beatrice had been able to write him.

Back at the cemetery he'd instantly called out her name after reading the front of the envelope and in the limited light of early morning Wirt had seen a bird. "Beatrice?" his voice yelled again, but that only startled the bird and it flew away. "Wait, that's dumb. Birds can't write." Then he flipped the envelope over in his hands. There was no seal and Wirt was able to pull out what was inside with ease.

Now sitting in front of his locker, he repeated the same action, pulling the paper from its envelope and scanning the words. At first Wirt thought it might have been some joke played on him by a random jerk who had seen his tape and Greg's drawing, but as he read, details were revealed that only she could know. The tone of it felt very un-Beatrice with its lack of cynicism and cutting sarcasm, but a lot had happened between them leading up to him leaving with Greg. Maybe she'd changed. "How were you able to do this?" Wirt whispered to himself, his stomach flipping again. "And to write that you _miss_ me?" He didn't even know how to process _that_.

"Who misses you?"

Wirt glanced up with a start to see Sara standing above him. "I uh, well, that is m-my grandmother. She misses me. Good old granny Beatrice, heh. Writing me letters." Quickly he shoved the letter back into his jacket pocket and ran a shaky hand through his already every-which-way hair.

Sara was quiet for a few seconds, but to Wirt every awkward moment of silence dragged on for what felt like hours. "Hey, you're not out here, because you're trying to avoid me are you?" she finally said. "I mean, I thought we were okay. We can still eat lunch together with the group, right?"

The group Sara was referring to had never really been Wirt's group. They were her friends and he had tagged along once they started dating, but Wirt wasn't one of them. He was the bent puzzle piece that didn't fit snuggly with the rest, destined to sit alone inside the puzzle box while the others were put together and framed. Wirt shook his head. He had to stop thinking up angsty poetic analogies about his life. At least he hadn't said this one out loud. "No, no everything's fine. I just wanted to come out here to have privacy and read this letter alone." Wirt patted his pocket.

"You wanted privacy to read a letter from your grandma?" Sara raised an eyebrow. "How personal could that get? Did she reveal your family's secret cookie recipe?"

"Haha that's funny, but uh, yeah, you know … she writes about a lot of things that are private, uh, things she can't tell anyone, but me … oh, wait, you know what, I have to stop. That sounds terrible. Actually the letter is from another girl and I didn't want you to see it." Wirt decided to tell a half-truth instead of continuing down a path that could have led nowhere good and everywhere embarrassing.

Sara took a seat beside Wirt and patted his knee, an action that probably would have produced an intense blush before. Now it barely registered on the long list of things that made him embarrassed. "You know you don't have to worry about my feelings. We're still friends and like any good friend I want you to be happy, so if you have another girl that you like then that's a good thing."

Wirt laughed nervously. "Wh-at, ha, no, no, no, I don't like Beatrice. I mean I like her, but we pfft … not like _that_." He made a gesture with his hands that was supposed to represent his feelings for Beatrice, but guessed he was doing it wrong when Sara stared at him questioningly. "You know what I mean, right?"

"Not really," Sara chuckled. "But if you like this girl," she imitated Wirt's hand movements from before as a tease and he laughed. "Then maybe you should make her a mixtape. You seem to be good at that." Sara nudged her shoulder against his.

"Yeah … I guess I could do that," Wirt replied.

"Just make sure she has a tape player, okay, because not everyone is a dork like you and hordes old musical equipment."

"Yeah, she most definitely does not own a tape player. I'll have to get her one." An idea began to push through Wirt's brain, clearing away the fuzziness that had persisted since that morning. "Hey, thanks Sara, for the, uh, idea."

"Sure. No problem," she said, standing again. "Just try to go light on the clarinet this time." Sara winked and Wirt blushed. "Come and eat lunch with us when you're done reading Beatrice's letter, okay?"

"Yeah, okay." Wirt nodded and Sara walked away.

* * *

><p>After school, Wirt went straight into implementing Sara's idea once the bus dropped him off. He took his bike out of the garage and rode it down to the used music store a few miles away from his house. The guy behind the counter, the college dropout slash former musician who Wirt pretended to listen to whenever he waxed eloquently about the good ol' days of music, waved to him as he entered the store. "Hey, bro. What's up? Usually I don't see you till the weekend."<p>

"I just came for something specific this time," Wirt replied. "My cassette player died and I need a new one."

The clerk nodded and placed a hand on his chin to stroke his beard. "Can't say we get too many of those in, but I'll check the back," he replied and walked through a door that had an employees only sign placed above a poster of some musician Wirt was too young to know.

Sara had been right about Wirt's weird obsession with old technology, especially when it concerned music. A nerd was someone who had to know everything about anything they especially liked and Wirt was definitely that. He knew too much about too many things that most teens wouldn't even bother with and one of those obsessions brought him to this store every weekend, searching for old equipment, records, and cassettes. It was the reason he had a cassette player at all during an age when everyone could stream pretty much any music they wanted online.

"Hey, you're lucky, kid. Got this one in yesterday," the store employee said as he walked back into the room and handed over a twin deck cassette player with radio to Wirt.

"How much?" Wirt asked, hoping he wouldn't have to haggle, because there was only a ten in his wallet.

"Five bucks," the man said.

Wirt paid for his item and then tying the bag with the cassette player inside to his handlebars, he biked back home in a hurry. After entering the house, Wirt looked at the clock above the stove as he walked past the kitchen and saw that there was only thirty minutes before he had to be at Greg's bus stop. If he was going to do anything for Beatrice at all it would have to be now. With fast legs, he ran into his room, searching for a cassette tape he could record over. Wirt found one in the corner of his room where he kept most of his musical contraptions bought from the resale shop. The tape was titled, acoustic songs for sleeping, a mix he had put together for himself. Wirt figured since he probably wasn't going to be able to record much of himself talking in the short span of time he had, that maybe Beatrice would enjoy something unthreatening as far as music was concerned. He assumed in whatever time period she was from … if that place even existed in a time period, there was a lack electronic instruments. If he was going to ease her into music from his world then he'd have to go slow.

"Hey, Beatrice. It's me Wirt. So, how's it going?" he asked after putting the tape into his cassette player and pushing down the record button. Instantly Wirt hit rewind.

_That was lame._

Clearing his throat, Wirt thought hard about what he wanted to say to his friend and then hit record again. "So, Beatrice. Uh, thanks for the letter. I'm not sure how you got it across whatever it is that separates us, but it was nice to hear from you and thanks for that really nice apology. I guess I should say I'm sorry too. I'm sorry I took Adelaide's scissors even though I knew you were helping Greg and I fight her off. I was just really mad at you for leading us there in the first place. Stupid, I know, but that's over with and well, I'm glad the scissors worked and you're human again. I'm sorry that you feel lonely though. I, uh … I miss … you too, but I don't want you to feel alone over there. You know, Greg asks to visit you all the time. It's why I sent you that tape. He wanted to give you his drawing, so I told him we could send you things. I never thought it would actually work, I mean I'm assuming you got the tape and picture. They weren't there in the morning, but your letter was. To be honest I have no idea if this will even work … if you'll get this tape at all. With my luck someone else will find this and use it as blackmail."

"But, If it makes you feel any better, life has been lonely for me too since I've been back and I'm very confused about a lot of things. I broke up with that girl … the one I told you about. We dated for a little while, but it didn't work out." Wirt hit the pause button, wondering if maybe he was telling Beatrice too much, but in the end decided he didn't care if she knew. "I'm learning that things aren't always what you expect them to be. Well, anyway I hope this finds you and you can use it to help your loneliness. Like I wrote in that letter, if you're lonely, press play and you can hear my dumb voice and some music too. Oh, and please don't listen to that other tape I sent you. It's terrible and I don't know why I made it and if you could just toss it," Wirt paused and shook his head, "... but knowing the type of person you are, I think you'll do exactly the opposite, just because I asked you not to." Wirt let out a self-deprecating laugh. "Guess, I'm glad I won't be around to see that."

He pushed the stop button. Next time … if there was a next time, he'd make sure to talk more, but for now this little bit would have to do. Swiftly he began to jot down a note to Beatrice explaining how to use the cassette player and also how she could record her own voice for him and Greg to hear. Wirt hoped it wouldn't be too difficult for her to figure out, but without ever having been exposed to his world's technology, he worried that she might find it tricky. Although, his memories of Beatrice had her being pretty savvy, so she would probably be fine. Wirt found himself lingering on those memories for a moment and it dawned on him that he could only see Beatrice as a bluebird, something she no longer was. On impulse, Wirt hit the record button one last time and asked, "So, what do you look like as a human?"

When everything was finished, Wirt ran downstairs and filled the cassette player with new batteries before heading out to pick Greg up, but more importantly, to make a little detour to the cemetery afterward.


	5. Chapter 5

Beatrice didn't have any trouble sneaking the small rectangle from Wirt or the drawing from Greg into her house. No one seemed to notice the sudden lumpiness that had developed around her breasts, but their ignorance probably had something to do with her rushing up the stairs as soon as she entered the house. Beatrice had been late and heard her mother calling after her, but she wanted to get the two items that were pushed up uncomfortably against her chest into the safety of her room, before responding. That didn't go over well with her mother though, who knocked on her door seconds after Beatrice entered.

"Beatrice, open this door." Her mother wasn't one to shout and even when she was upset her voice was always calm, but that didn't mean Beatrice couldn't hear the tone of irritation she softly inflected while saying her name.

"Coming," Beatrice answered, shoving the brothers' gifts into a desk drawer and then rushing to the door. "Anything I can help you with?" Beatrice smiled wide after cracking the door only enough for her face to be seen.

"Yes, you can tell me why the sun went down and it was fifteen minutes later that you arrived home." Her mother's hands were planted firmly on her hips, the tell-tale sign of an upset parent.

"Oh, that. Uh, well, I was running with George and he jumped up on me, you know playing around and I fell down into some mud." Beatrice opened the door wider to showcase the dirty dress George had unintentionally ruined and her mother clucked her tongue in disapproval.

"That dog," she sighed. "Well, a ruined dress shouldn't have made you late. It takes only a few seconds to pull yourself back up."

"I don't know why you were so worried about me. I wasn't that late," Beatrice grumbled as she walked back into her room to sit down on her bed and leaned forward, resting her face in her hands. "I'm nearly seventeen. Not to mention I was on my own for more than half a year while we were all bluebirds."

The older woman sat down next to Beatrice on the bed and laid a hand on her back. "Exactly, Beatrice. You _are _almost seventeen and need to stop these unnecessary risks you take, throwing rocks at birds, going out alone at night, getting into fist fights with your brothers. It's time to start taking life seriously."

Beatrice bit her lip. Even though a counter argument had already formed in her head, she fought the urge to say it, not wanting to risk upsetting her mother further. Speaking her mind might lead to more trouble, like not being able to go outside alone anymore, because she was a woman now or some other nonsense. Beatrice could sense the path her mother's words would take if their disagreement grew into an argument. Women had to sit demurely inside and crochet or whatever boring things girls did once they became adults. That was something Beatrice would try to hold at bay for as long as possible. "I'm sorry. I won't mess up again. I will make sure to give myself enough time to get home before dark from now on." She tried to sound as repentant as possible and thankfully her mother bought into the charade.

"Good, now take that muddy dress off and get into your nightgown," her mother replied.

"My nightgown?" It was too early for bed, but before her mother could responded, Beatrice knew what she was going to say. This was her punishment for being late.

"Yes, late daughters go to bed early."

Beatrice sighed in resignation. She wouldn't fight. She would be as conforming as possible in order to still be able to visit the garden wall. That spitfire inside her would have to be pushed down from now on, a task that seemed enormous in scope, but she would make the effort. For Wirt and Greg she would do almost anything.

Her mother left and Beatrice began to ready herself for sleep. Reaching up, she pulled out the pins that kept her long hair up in a bun and locks of red fell around her shoulders. The strands were brushed and then Beatrice pulled off her dress to replace it with a nightgown. Before settling into bed, she fished out her letters to Wirt from the hem of her stained dress and placed them in the drawer alongside her newly acquired gifts. She stared at those gifts, Wirt's rectangle especially, and then took it into bed with her. Beatrice let her hands play around with the strange device for a while, touching the surface and even poking a finger through the holes with fake teeth. Eventually with a yawn, she placed it under her pillow, thankful that she was the eldest and had her own bedroom. Keeping secrets from her family would have been a lot more difficult if she had been forced to share a room with one of her sisters.

The only one who knew Beatrice's secret was George and thankfully for her, dogs couldn't speak. She could have told her mother. Maybe the overreaction Beatrice had seen play out in her head wouldn't have happened, but maybe it would have and she wasn't willing to give up that tiny bit of hope that Wirt and Greg weren't so far out of reach. Her mother was still fragile, a bit weary of anything different, especially after the bluebird incident, and even if it was her suggestion that Beatrice write to her friends, she doubted her mother would encourage it if she knew Wirt and Greg had come from over the garden wall.

"That wall has magic in it. You need to be careful when you visit there." It was a warning her mother had given all her children over the years, but Beatrice received it more than once, probably because, she was known to get into mischief.

Beatrice rolled over onto her side and pushed one of her hands underneath the pillow to feel Wirt's gift. "Just push play … what does that even mean, you nerd," she said with a smile and slowly began to drift off.

* * *

><p>Beatrice's confidence in her ability to sneak items in and out of her house without anyone being the wiser shrank significantly the next day when she visited the garden wall after school. "Oh, Wirt. What were you thinking?" Beatrice moaned as she stared at the large contraption left behind for her. It was too large to shove down her blouse that much she was sure of. With a sigh, Beatrice sat down next to the <em>thing <em>and took out the note tucked neatly behind it.

_Beatrice,_

_This is a tape player. If you push the play button you'll be able to hear my voice, which I've put on the tape inside. When you're finished listening, push down the rewind button (labeled rew) and then the record button (the red one). If you talk after the red button is down it will place your voice on the tape over mine and you can send that back to me and Greg. Make sure to hit the stop/eject button to remove the tape once you're done (one hit to stop the player another to eject the tape). The player is yours to keep. I already bought a second one for myself, so that I can listen to the tape whenever you want to send it back. Hope to "hear" from you soon._

_Wirt_

Wirt's heart had been in the right place. He had come up with a decent idea to keep in contact with her, using magic from his world with a tape player that could transfer her voice onto Wirt's rectangle, which she now knew was called a tape. How could he have known that Beatrice was trying to keep everything a secret? With careful hands, she picked up the even larger rectangle and looked over the buttons Wirt had given a name to. "Just push play, huh?" Wirt's words from his other note suddenly made sense.

Beatrice looked to her left and then to the right to see if she was alone. Around her there were only trees and to her back there was the wall. Except for the spirts that resided inside nature, Beatrice was completely alone. With this in mind, she let her index finger slide along the various buttons Wirt had mentioned and then settling on the one labeled play, Beatrice pushed down. Instantly the familiar sound of Wirt's voice, mostly exasperated when they had been together, now calm and sometimes nervous as he stumbled through his words, filled the air.

Beatrice didn't know why, but as he talked she flushed. A creeping red began to take over the light freckles that dotted the exposed skin on her chest, a side effect she had not expected or one she was used to dealing with. Beatrice was not one to be embarrassed about anything. Angry for sure, but never embarrassed. Now for some reason she was and that feeling only intensified when she thought of others hearing Wirt's voice. How could she go home with his large contraption in her hands and not have the others see it … steal it from her and then laugh. That was an unacceptable outcome and when Wirt's voice ended, followed by some soft music, Beatrice knew she had to devise a way to get his tape player inside without anyone else seeing.

When Beatrice approached her house an hour or so later, she had developed a somewhat lacking plan inside her brain. It could possibly work or it might not and if the latter happened, then she would face the outcome with a brave face. A few of her brothers might get new bruises if they attempted to tease, but nonetheless she would deal with it. Her mother was a different story. She couldn't fight her and Beatrice hoped that if it came down to a standoff between the two of them that the older woman would accept her daughter's friendship with the two boys that lived over the garden wall.

Only three of her siblings were outside. The cold autumn air was probably keeping the others inside, but it was really her youngest brother that she wanted to talk with and Beatrice was glad when she saw him diving into piles of fallen leaves nearby. "Psst, Henry," she whispered from behind a tree, her voice high enough for him to hear, but low enough to leave the others oblivious.

Her little brother glanced towards the tree she was hidden slightly behind. "Hey, Bea-" he began, but Beatrice reached up a finger to her mouth and silently shushed him. Then lowering the hand she motioned for him to come to her.

Henry glanced at his other sister and brother playing in the yard, but eventually shrugged his shoulders. "Mother's mad at you. You were supposed to come home from school and do your chores."

"Shhh, that's not important," Beatrice spoke in a lowered voice. "I need you to do me a favor."

"I don't do favors for nothing," Henry tilted his chin upward and crossed his arms across his chest.

"You little crook," she huffed.

"That's the way the cookie crumbles," her brother replied with a smirk.

"You're not even using that phrase correctly." Beatrice rolled her eyes, but she really didn't have any other option. "Fine, how much."

"Two coins." Henry held out his hand.

Beatrice reached into the hem of her dress and retrieved what her brother asked for. "I'm only giving you one now. You have to earn the second by actually doing the favor."

Henry shrugged. "Okay, deal."

"I want you to go into the yard, away from the front door and start screaming as loud as you can. You can stop when I ask you how you are."

Henry replied with a wicked smile. "That's easy. I'm good at screaming."

"Yeah, I know. Now go put that talent to use." Beatrice pushed her brother out from behind the tree and waited for him to start yelling, which he did seconds later.

Just as Beatrice had hoped, her whole family, save for her father who was still at work, came rushing around Henry, worried for his wellbeing. This in turn gave Beatrice the opportunity to sneak into the house and into her bedroom undetected. She shoved the tape player under her bed and ran back down the stairs to her screaming brother. "Henry, are you okay?" She asked, feigning concern.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Henry replied. "I just felt like screaming."

His mother gave him a good scolding about crying wolf, but Henry didn't seem bothered by it, especially when Beatrice snuck him another coin at dinner.

Like the night before, Beatrice was sent to bed early, this time for neglecting to come home after school to do her chores, but she didn't mind. It gave her the opportunity to create her own message for Wirt and Greg without anyone being the wiser.

"So, I suppose we are starting with the basics," Beatrice spoke softly into the device, not wanting to alert her family to what she was up to. "You want to know what I look like as a human. Fair enough, but in return I'd like you to give me a rundown of yourself. We only really know each other through our past experiences together on this side of the wall, but what is life like for you over there? What sort of other magical things do you own that are like this tape player? And more importantly … can you send me more tapes of your poetry?" Beatrice stifled a laugh, knowing she had done exactly what Wirt had asked her not to do. "Yes, I listened to that other tape, but I want you to know that you have nothing to be embarrassed about. I actually enjoyed most of it. The clarinet, eh … I liked it better when you played bassoon, but the poetry … Wirt … that wasn't bad. I was kind of impressed."

Beatrice felt herself blushing again and disliking the feeling of having very little control over her emotions, she changed the subject, giving Wirt a description of her appearance instead. At the end Beatrice added that she hated her freckles, a fact she felt needed to be shared considering she had gone against his request and listened to his tape. His most vulnerable side had been exposed to her and it was only fair to give him a small window into her insecurities too.

Beatrice continued to talk, telling Wirt about her family and how Henry had helped her get the tape player inside her room. She didn't tell him why she had to sneak it inside, feeling that knowing her mother might not approve could make Wirt uneasy and keep him from sending her tapes. The thought of that caused a slight panic to build inside her that she had to force down. When Beatrice was finally out of things to say she ended with, "Thanks for thinking of this way for us to keep in touch. It really means a lot to me. Anyway, tell Greg I said hello. Hopefully I can hear him too next time."

She pushed down the stop button and ejected the tape, deciding that tomorrow her fashion choice would have to include a satchel borrowed from her mother, because she didn't think the front of her blouse could be used again. Absently she touched the sore spot the other tape had created from being pushed up so tightly against her skin. Beatrice didn't think she would be able to get the new tape out to the wall until the next day and she hoped Wirt wouldn't think she didn't care enough to send her voice back to him if he was expecting it by morning. But Beatrice wouldn't sneak out to deliver the tape that night. Being so brazen might have repercussions she wasn't willing to deal with … like being grounded. "Tomorrow," Beatrice sighed as she slipped the tape to Wirt under her pillow. Then returning the tape player to its hiding spot, she tried to fall asleep even though her body was humming with excitement.


	6. Chapter 6

It wasn't the alarm clock that woke Wirt. That was supposed to go off at 6:30am. But Wirt had a second alarm that forced him from sleep every couple of mornings, despite him telling that alarm he didn't appreciate it when his little brother woke him up. That morning it was the human alarm that came bouncing into his room. Wirt tried not to show his annoyance, but it was such a hard thing to do when he was first waking up. "Greg, I've told you so many times. Stop coming in my room so early," he grumbled, rubbing sleep from his eyes with one hand and using the other to push his brother gently off the bed.

"I know, but I'm so excited, Wirt. I'm just so excited. I can't control myself. I'm going crazy. It's Beatrice day! Ahhhh." Greg began to run in a circle while yelling, forcing Wirt out of his bed to try and stop him.

"Hey, quiet!" he ordered in a firm, but hushed voice as he kneeled on the ground and grasped Greg in his arms. "What we're doing for Beatrice is supposed to be a secret. You yell like that and mom will come in here and I'll have to figure out a fake reason to explain why you're in my room at 5am going crazy."

"You can say I had too much sugar. That's what mom always says when I start jumping on things."

"Did you have too much sugar?" Wirt raised an eyebrow questioningly and thought he smelled a hint of cinnamon on his brother's breath.

Greg nodded enthusiastically. "I ate three Christmas cookies while I waited for you to wake up, but I just couldn't wait anymore, Wirt. We're going to hear from Beatrice today. Beatrice!"

Wirt shushed his brother and then asked, "Don't you think mom's going to notice that three of the cookies we made yesterday are suddenly missing?"

Greg shrugged. "Maybe she won't. I only ate the ugly ones, but don't worry I didn't eat the one you made of Beatrice."

"W-what, I didn't make a Beatrice cookie," Wirt denied, but the blush creeping up his face told a different story.

"Then why did you give your gingerbread cookie red hair and a blue dress … blue like a bluebird just like Bea-" Greg was silenced by Wirt's hand being placed over his mouth.

"That wasn't Beatrice. That was … uh, Orphan Annie and none of this matters anyway. You're supposed to be asleep and so am I. It's 5 in the morning, Greg." Wirt removed his hand from his brother's face after realizing he was trying to say something. "Sorry. What'd you say?"

"I told you," Greg replied as Wirt shook off the cookie crumbs that had transferred from his brother's mouth onto his hand. "It's Beatrice day!"

"Shhh! Not so loud," Wirt reminded Greg.

"Oh yeah," the younger brother said and then made a movement with his hand like he was zipping his mouth shut.

Wirt teasingly tested the fake zipper by pretending to yank on it. "Hmmm seems to be zipped up, but how can I be sure?" he said, causing Greg to erupt into a loud giggle. "But oh, you broke it now, Greg."

Wirt let go of his brother and went back to sit on his bed. Gregory followed, hopping up on the mattress and rocking from toe to heel and back again in a constant motion of excitement that annoyed Wirt. It was too early for this. "You know, Greg, Beatrice can't always get the tape back to us right away. You remember her telling us that, right?"

"I know, but you'll check the wall after school today, won't you?" Greg was getting close to full on jumping and Wirt reached up to tug him down. He fell on his knees next to him.

"Yeah, I'll check, but until then we won't know if she sent the tape back, so there's no reason for you to be in here screaming about Beatrice." Wirt yawned.

"I know. I'm sorry. Do you want a Christmas cookie?" Greg pulled a headless gingerbread man from his pajama bottoms and Wirt cringed.

"What? No. I don't want that. Just go back to your room and wait for mom to wake you up. Can you pretend to be asleep?"

"Oh yeah, I can do that. I'm good at playing pretend. Remember my elephant costume?" Gregory hopped down from Wirt's bed and began to walk towards the door leading out into the hallway. "Maybe Beatrice will want this cookie," Wirt heard him say and he was about to explain to Greg that they couldn't send food to Beatrice, but then didn't bother. The cookie probably wouldn't survive the short trip through the hallway and back into his brother's room without being eaten. Either that or Greg would feed it to his pet frog.

Yawning again, Wirt fell backwards on his bed and closed his eyes. After a few minutes he began to slowly drift back into sleep, but because of all the commotion about Beatrice, his last thought was of a song he wanted to add to his next tape for her. That song played softly in his head and was the last thing he remembered, before the loud blare of his real alarm jolted him awake. Wirt moaned. Now he actually had to get out of bed.

On his nightstand was a pen and paper and after turning on the lamp next to them, he wrote down the song he had thought of. It was one among a few others he'd written down on that paper since sending her last tape out. Beatrice would be happy to know that this song had nothing to do with birds. She had commented in one of her recent recordings that Wirt must still think she could fly, because of all the references to birds and wings in the music he selected. Beatrice was being sarcastic, he knew that, but still Wirt wanted to give her songs that she would appreciate and since then had sent her a tape without any music mentioning birds. Sometimes a random reference to who Beatrice used to be still worked its way in and this time the song Wirt had thought of mentioned the color blue.

It was in fact hard for him to see Beatrice not as a bird. She was right about that, even if he knew she had red hair, freckled skin and was probably taller than him … that's what she had said anyway, but whenever Wirt thought about this new image of her, he could only see who Beatrice had been. It was the main reason he'd drawn the gingerbread man into a gingerbread Beatrice. Wirt was trying to imagine who she was. Although, he wasn't much of an artist and was surprised that his brother had picked up on who his cookie creation really was. Thinking of it again caused Wirt's blush to return. Greg, despite his age, was very intuitive.

After a few tapes had been sent back and forth between Wirt and Beatrice, he had tried to devise a way to up the game and communicate with video, but the idea of leaving his phone or any type of video recording device on the ground for anyone to take, didn't sit well with him. A cassette and its player went unnoticed. Who cared about old technology enough to steal it? He didn't think the same could be said for something newer and definitely more expensive.

It was his obsession with old technology that had eventually given him the answer to another way of communicating with Beatrice. Now it was just a waiting game for the items he ordered on eBay using his mom's PayPal account, to arrive. He had begged her to let him use them early, even if Christmas was a week away and begrudgingly she had agreed. His excuse was something about wanting to take Christmas pictures with Sara. Yes, that lie was still in full swing. Wirt felt it was a useful tool in explaining his many absences when he was at the cemetery. But what his mom didn't know was that the old Polaroid camera and film he'd ordered weren't for him really. It was a gift for Beatrice.

It took Wirt a little while longer to get ready for school that morning, since Greg's early morning visit had left him feeling sluggish and when he came into the kitchen his mom commented on the tired expression he must have been wearing. "Just sleepy," Wirt replied. "I didn't get good sleep last night."

He sent a pointed look to Greg who was standing beside their mom, waiting for her to finish pouring his cereal, but his brother only waved at him and said, "Hi, Wirt!"

"Well, I have something that will cheer you into waking up!" His mom replied and before Wirt could ask what she meant, he was left alone in the kitchen as she brought Greg to the dining room table to eat and came back in holding a Christmas present. "For you." She held out the gift for him to take.

"I can open it now?" Wirt asked, taking hold of the present.

His mom smiled. "That was the deal right? You could open it early to take pictures with Sara as long as I got one of those pictures."

Wirt's eyes grew wide. "It's the camera? But why did you wrap it?"

"Well, you can't take away all my fun. I want to see you unwrap it." She clasped her hands in joy and Wirt grimaced at her overly excited state. It was kind of painful to watch.

"You know I've seen it already. I picked it out," he reminded her.

"Oh, don't be a party pooper. I know that. I just want to enjoy these little moments with you. You're growing up so fast. Having a girlfriend now. Speaking of which, when are you going to bring Sara over here for dinner?"

"Mooom," Wirt complained.

She raised her hands in mock surrender. "I know, I know. I won't overstep your boundaries. Just open the present already. I have to leave for work soon."

If Wirt wanted to avoid any more talk about his fake girlfriend then he would have to do what his mom wanted. Quickly he removed the Santa Claus wrapping paper and held up the camera for her to see. "Thanks. It's just what I wanted. How did you know?" he deadpanned and his mother laughed. "No, but really. Thanks for letting me have this early," Wirt said in all sincerity.

"Sure. Anything for my little guy." His mom reached out and patted his head while Wirt fought the impulse to groan.

Before leaving out the door to catch the bus that morning, Wirt slipped the camera into his backpack. If he was going to give it as a gift to Beatrice then he would have to take a few polaroids of himself with Sara to keep up the pretense of them dating.

At school, Sara agreed to let Wirt take a couple of pictures of them together and to not seem creepy he also took photos of himself with other students, a list that even included Jason Funderberker. Wirt had just finished taking another picture with a random classmate when Sara approached him at his locker and asked, "So, why all the photos with that old timey camera?"

Wirt decided not to lie. He was so wrapped up in them lately that there was a strong urge in him to actually tell something true for once. "I'm sending the camera to Beatrice as a gift and wanted to use up some of the film, you know, to show her my friends."

"Oh yeah, Beatrice … the secret letter girl. You haven't mentioned her since that one day," Sara remarked. "Did you ever end up making that mixtape?"

Wirt nodded. "I did, but after a few back and forths of us both doing that, I thought we could exchange pictures too." For emphasis he shook the polaroid he'd just taken in front of Sara's face.

"What about Skype or FaceTime?" Sara asked. "Don't you guys do that? Doesn't she have a phone or computer?"

Wirt hadn't planned well, and as a result, stumbled searching for an answer to Sara's question. "Uh actually … um … no. Her family is kind of old fashioned. They don't use modern technology."

Sara seemed intrigued by this information. "Like the Amish?"

"Heh, yeah, something like that, I guess."

"Oh, that's so … different. I've never met anyone Amish before. Can I meet her … that is, if she's even real." Sara was being playful, but Wirt thought he heard a hint of truth hidden behind her words.

"Maybe, but she doesn't live around here. She's in uhhh Pennsylvania, where all the other Amish live," Wirt answered quickly, frustrated that he was back to lying again and doing it badly.

"Pennsylvania? When did you go-"

"Sorry, Sara. I have to get to my next class, ehhh I'm so swamped," Wirt interrupted, as he slowly began to back away and unexpectedly bumped into a very large Senior walking behind him. The upperclassmen roughly shoved Wirt out of his way, causing him to hit the wall.

"Are you okay?" Sara asked, coming to his side.

"I'm fine," Wirt groaned, but then he began to back away again. "See you later, Sara."

"Bye, Wirt," she replied as he raced down the hallway and away from any more questions about Beatrice.

For the rest of the school day, Wirt intentionally avoided Sara. He didn't want to talk to her again until he could create a more concrete backstory for Beatrice that was, in fact, not based in truth, but was similar to the state of his current relationship with her. That way Wirt wouldn't fumble over the details again. Much to his relief, it was the Friday before Winter Break, so he wouldn't have to see Sara again for two weeks and while other students were celebrating the end of the first half of the school year, Wirt was trying to remain unnoticed as he snuck on the bus.

After he was dropped off at home, Wirt rode his bike out to the cemetery with his camera in tow and instantly looked for a return tape from Beatrice. His short search came up empty and with a heavy sigh Wirt thought of the disappointing news he'd have to deliver Greg. Beatrice was taking longer in between tape exchanges and he hoped everything was okay. But deep down Wirt knew it wasn't only worry that he felt at not having a new tape from Beatrice. Loneliness was there too. Whenever she took longer getting back with him, Wirt had a hard time not being upset, because he genuinely enjoyed corresponding with her. It was usually the highlight of his day.

She let Wirt be himself. He could recite his poetry to her and she was never negative. Yeah, per her typical Beatrice ways she would occasionally crack a joke, but his friend always followed that up with compliments and sometimes tips on how he could improve. On one tape he'd even let her hear him play clarinet. Her response was to laugh, tell him how adorable he was and then embarrass herself by trying to sing, something she admitted she wasn't very good at, despite having been a songbird before.

"What's going on, Beatrice? Why haven't you sent the tape back yet?" Wirt sighed to himself and then shoved the camera, the pictures he'd taken, and a note explaining how to use everything, inside the large plastic bag he'd brought with. Afterward, he grasped a few loose leaves in his hand and spread them out over his gift to Beatrice, before walking back to his bike.

That weekend the northeast had its first big snowstorm since summer had turned into autumn and Wirt wasn't able to get back to the wall right away. He was frustrated at being snowed in, so much so that when the roads were finally cleared and his parents returned to work, the first thing he did was head out to the cemetery. Wirt dressed Gregory and himself in their snowsuits to brave the cold weather, then pulling his brother on a sled, they made their way to find Beatrice's tape. "Ah ha!" Wirt exclaimed when he finally pulled out a plastic bag filled with pictures and cassette tape from under the snow.

"Show me. Show me!" Greg exclaimed.

"Wait till we get home. I don't want to get the pictures wet," Wirt said through his scarf.

The brothers returned home and after shedding their winter gear, Wirt pulled the pictures out and a sort of anticipation began to grow in his stomach. It was the same feeling he'd experienced after finding Beatrice's letter. "Lemme see!" Greg pestered and Wirt fell down on the living room couch, letting his brother settle in close beside him and they viewed the first polaroid together. "Wooooow, she's not a bird anymore," Greg exclaimed in astonishment. Apparently he'd been having trouble seeing Beatrice only as a bird too.

Wirt shook his head. "No, she's not," he agreed and suddenly felt the sensation he always did whenever there was a blush beginning to cover his face. Well, now he could now add human Beatrice to the long list of things that made him turn beet red and even if he wanted to deny he knew why, the answer was so very clear to him.

Beatrice was beautiful.

So much more than his gingerbread cookie was anyway.


	7. Chapter 7

Beatrice was laying on her stomach near the fireplace with her face propped up in her hands. A chessboard was directly in front of her and on the other side of that chessboard was her brother Henry. The game they were playing was rigged from the start, because Henry had no idea what he was doing. Beatrice tried to be patient and teach him how each piece was only allowed to move in certain directions, but after a while she gave up and the two settled on playing something Henry made all the rules for. He was, of course, the winner and feigning anger at her loss, Beatrice yelled, "I'm going to kill you!" and tackled him.

"No! Stop it!" her brother cried as she attacked him with tickles, but Beatrice ignored his pleas and kept at it to the point that the chessboard was knocked over and its pieces strew across the floor. Soon George came to see what all the commotion was about and the house was filled with Henry's screams followed by George's barks until another sound rose above them both, the voice of a mother who had heard enough.

"Beatrice, will you stop making all that noise with your brother and come here?" It was phrased as a question, but Beatrice could hear the tone of an order.

She stifled a groan, remembering her commitment to the role of dutiful daughter, and pulled away from Henry. "Hey, you owe me for that game. I won it," her brother said, in between gasp for air, a result of him exerting too much energy in his effort to fight his sister off.

Beatrice exaggerated an eye roll and replied, "Come see me later."

"And you still owe me for that _other _thing too," Henry reminded.

His sister sent him a look that told him to shut his mouth, because that _other thing_ wasn't supposed to be mentioned in front of anyone. There wasn't anyone else around close enough to hear, but Beatrice was overly cautious when it came to her activities dealing with the garden wall. "Hey, you've bled me dry. You have to wait until I can earn more money from doing chores before I can pay you."

Henry had, on more than one occasion, helped Beatrice out of a jam by offering up his services as a distraction … as long as she paid. Her brother never asked what she was up to when she needed him to direct everyone's attention elsewhere and his age probably had more to do with that than anything else. An eight year old was much more inclined to want a reward in the form of money than to know why his sister was always sneaking around. But the last time she went to him for help, Beatrice had offered him a rain check. Now Henry wanted to collect her debt and didn't seem all that concerned that he was the reason for his sister's lack of funds. His reply to her excuse was to return the angry look he was receiving with one of his own. The two were locked in a stare down of scowls for a few minutes when a voice shattered their concentration. "Beatrice, please stop stalling and come sit down with us," her mother's voice called to her again from the parlor.

"Yes, mother," Beatrice replied, sticking her tongue out at Henry who returned the favor. With a sigh, she turned her attention away from her brother and took stock of her appearance. If she was going to drink tea in the parlor and _be a lady_ then she better not look like she had just been rolling on the floor. Beatrice straightened her dress and pushed a few fly away strands of hair back into her bun, before heading in the direction her mother's voice had come from.

"Hello," Beatrice greeted her mother, Aunt Mary and Cousin Louisa while taking a seat at the table the three occupied.

Her mother's sister and her family had come to stay for the holidays, but thankfully were leaving the next day. _Thankfully_, because during their two week visit, Beatrice had only been to the garden wall twice and much to her irritation, she still hadn't given Wirt his Christmas present. Not to mention her aunt and cousin weren't exactly pleasant company. Everyone knew by now that Beatrice had been the reason for the whole bluebird mess and her aunt seemed to hold that over her head whenever they were all in the same room together. Louisa wasn't much better, although was less vocal. Her method of attack was to send Beatrice snotty looks. Her Uncle was okay, but could be quiet and timid. As a result, he never spoke up to rein in Aunt Mary and strangely enough neither did Beatrice's mother. She was usually very defensive of her children, but had become silent on the issue around her sister. Beatrice chalked it up to her mother wanting to keep the peace and took the whole uncomfortable thinly veiled attacks in stride. She just wanted to get through their visit without giving her mother any reason to say she had misbehaved, and putting on a smile, Beatrice assumed she would have to employ that tactic again while drinking tea with them.

_Put on your happy smile and pretend you don't want to punch your aunt and cousin in the face._

"That was quite some noise from you and Henry out there," Aunt Mary said, as she lowered a tea cup from her lips and placed it gently back in its saucer.

Beatrice shrugged. "I like to play with Henry. He's the youngest and sometimes is forgotten," she replied, trying not to sound defensive, but also making it obvious that she felt she had done nothing wrong.

"Indeed. How much he must have missed you when you left before and essentially _forgot_ him." Aunt Mary's smile was wicked.

"Yes, well, I suppose I'm making up for that as much as possible now." Beatrice tried to look her aunt in the face, tried to be defiant of her rude remark, but the reminder of when she had abandoned her family caused a pulse of guilt to surge through Beatrice's body and she absently stared at the large flower pinned atop Louisa's hat instead. It was garishly ugly. Just like her aunt's demeanor.

Beatrice's mother cleared her throat to help dissipate the awkward silence that hung heavy in the air after her daughter and sister's exchange and offered a change in subject. But not to one Beatrice was all that interested in hearing about. "Beatrice, Louisa was just telling me of the finishing school she attends and it sounded very interesting."

"Mother, you know you're probably too old to attend finishing school," Beatrice teased, but no one at their little tea party seemed amused.

"Yes, I do miss Louisa very much when she is away, but her time there is well spent. Just look at how refined she has become," Aunt Mary said, not even acknowledging Beatrice's attempt at humor.

Louisa, put a hand over her mouth in fake embarrassment and tried to act like she was too humble to respond to such praise, but Beatrice could see right through to her conniving brain. She was relishing it. Where was the finishing school that could refine your soul? Louisa could probably use a good lesson from them instead.

The conversation at the table continued to push the benefits of finishing school and how perfect Louisa was, so much so that Beatrice felt her gag reflex begin to act up. To distract herself she tried to remember some of Wirt's poetry, especially the depressed, the world is a mess, and we're all going to die, kind. It fit her mood perfectly. Although, on his most recent tape Wirt had been more upbeat, reciting words that were hopeful and about love. She thought of those poems too and decided they were the ones she would focus on to get through tea time with her extended family. They helped her think of better things … like her moments listening to tapes and staring at polaroids. Suddenly Beatrice felt herself beginning to blush, a reaction only Wirt seemed able to produce in her and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"What do you think, Beatrice?"

It was her mother who spoke, but about what, she wasn't sure. Beatrice decided a positive reply would probably fit the question better than a negative. It was very likely they were all still talking about how perfect Louisa was with her beautiful blond curls and clear skin that didn't contain even one freckle. "I think that I agree." Beatrice put on her fake smile to help push the answer she hoped was correct.

Her mother smiled back, a sign that the response was what she had wanted. "That's wonderful. I didn't realize you would be so easily swayed."

"That's me. I like to sway. I sway in all the directions." Beatrice's grin was starting to slowly morph into a grimace. What exactly had she been _swayed _into?

"Well, this is great news. I will write a letter to the school and get the process started. With Aunt Mary's recommendation I don't see why you wouldn't be accepted in about a month. Perhaps I can even request that you share a room with Louisa."

Her mother continued to babble on and on about the subject Beatrice was slowly coming to realize meant her attending finishing school and without thinking she blurted out, "Wait. I don't want to go there. I don't need finishing school. I'm fine the way I am."

Her daughter's sudden reversal, startled Beatrice's mother into silence, but that didn't stop her aunt from voicing an opinion. "I hardly think rolling on the floor with your brother or any of the other crude things my sister says you do speaks in your defense at being fine the way you are. Grown women do not act as you do. They do not throw rocks at birds and turn their whole family into bluebirds."

In an instant Beatrice facade crumbled into a pile at her feet. The character she had been portraying for the past month was gone. Her true self could no longer be held back and with fire burning through her veins she replied in a voice that was just short of a yell, "And what would you know about that? You're just a bitch who doesn't understand what it's like to be normal! Having a stick permanently up your ass is not normal!"

"Beatrice!" her mother exclaimed in shock and probably humiliation at how her daughter was not acting at all refined … not like Louisa anyway.

"I'm not going to finishing school. I won't. Why would you want to send me away right after we were all back together again?" She hated it, but tears were smarting her eyes, a product of anger and hurt. Her mother was selling her out. Not only that, she was pushing her towards a lifestyle she did not want, not in the least.

"Beatrice, it's for your own good," her mother replied, in a calm and loving voice, a ploy to reel her back in. "You'll see down the line that this was the right decision."

"For my good or your good, because you're embarrassed of me and need me change who I am?" It didn't matter what her mother said in response. Beatrice didn't want to hear it. No matter how she tried to say otherwise, it was so clear to her what all this was about. Who Beatrice was on the inside was the person her mother thought should be erased. Perhaps she still did blame her for the bluebird incident and this was her punishment.

Without waiting for anyone else to speak, Beatrice raced towards her room and past Henry who was still messing with the chessboard. He called her name, but she kept running until her door was closed behind her. Once alone, Beatrice let the tears fall that she had been holding back. Then laying down on her bed, she shoved her face into her pillow and continued to sob. Her mind laid out for her how terrible life would be if she was forced to know how to curtsey correctly and serve the correct silverware with the correct dinner plates and who cared about all that tedious nonsense anyway?

But worst of all, going to finishing school meant being away from the garden wall. With one of her hands already underneath her pillow, Beatrice felt out the photograph of Wirt she kept there and removed it. There he was, smiling with Sara. She knew her name, because Wirt had written it on the polaroid. Lucky her. She actually got to be in the same world as him and over there they probably didn't have finishing schools.

It seemed to be the more Beatrice thought of it, the more that being away from her communications with Wirt and Greg was actually the worst part of attending finishing school. How long would it be in between tapes now? Would she get to come home for holidays like Louisa did? So, only holiday tapes now? An ache inside her chest began to grow and to help ease it, Beatrice pulled out the tape player to hear Wirt's voice. She had already listened to his tape once before, but hadn't had time to record her own voice over it for him and Greg. Now Beatrice didn't want to, because she would only have bad news to deliver.

That was how Beatrice spent most of her afternoon, up in her room, with Wirt's tape softly playing and his polaroids close by. The two combined together helped calm her down and even if the ache in her chest was still present, it was dulled enough that she was able to think clearly again. With her emotions no longer ruling her actions, Beatrice decided she was going to escape the four walls of her room, but it was not to apologize. She wasn't ready to face her mother or anyone else yet. But she was ready to face the garden wall and with her present for Wirt in hand, Beatrice opened the door to her room. A startled gasp left her mouth when a tiny body came tumbling backwards after she swung the door inward. "Henry! Were you spying on me?" She asked, hands planted firmly on her hips.

Her brother rolled into a sitting position and shook his head. "No, I promise. I just wanted to see if you were okay. Then I heard you crying, so I guarded your door. Didn't let anyone in to bother you." He puffed out his chest in an effort to show off his strength and despite everything, Beatrice laughed.

"How kind of you," she replied with a genuine smile. "Thank you for being my knight in shining armor. Now Sir Knight Henry would you be willing to perform another task for you great queen?"

Henry stood and snorted. "You're not a queen, but yeah, I'll help you out."

"I can't pay you."

Her brother shrugged. "That's okay. I'll just add it to your bill."

She was hoping he would forget the bill altogether, but obviously that wasn't going to happen. "I need another distraction. I want to leave the house, but I'm afraid after all that happened, if I even show my face to mother that I'll be pulled back into an argument. I just need to leave for a little while, but I want everyone to think I'm still in my room," Beatrice explained to her brother.

"You'll come back though, right?" There was honest worry in his voice and his sister patted his head.

"Of course, but I have to leave right now. My skin is crawling being in this house with Aunt Mary and Cousin Louisa."

Henry placed a hand on his chin and put on a face like he was thinking intently. "Okay," he finally replied. "Give me a few seconds to get everyone away from the front door."

Beatrice smiled. "Thanks little brother."

"All in a day's work." His voice came out sounding too serious and Beatrice giggled.

She wasn't sure how Henry did it, but a few minutes later when Beatrice crept out of her room, she saw that there was no one in the hallway outside her door or near the front entrance of the house. Knowing her time was limited, she didn't take the time to investigate what Henry had done to secure her escape and quickly placed on her coat and boots. Then with a glance outside to see if the area was clear, she ran in the direction of the garden wall.

The snow tended to make her journey there longer than when only grass and dirt covered her path and when the wall was finally in sight, Beatrice took a moment to catch her breath, having run all the way there. Then walking up to it, she placed a hand against its hard surface. "This is so frustrating," she sighed. "Why can't I just see you?" In typical Beatrice fashion, the spitfire punched the wall and as she pulled her knuckles away, her eyes caught sight of red dripping down from them and staining the white snow below. "I should have worn my mittens."

Beatrice put her bloody hand back into her coat pocket and grasped the envelope with Wirt's present inside. She didn't want to just leave it and hope he received it. What she had written was too personal. With a frustrated groan, Beatrice impulsively touched the wall again where her fist had come in contact with a portion of brick that jutted out. Whoever had made the wall, hadn't done their job well and there were many areas of it with bricks similar to the one Beatrice held onto, almost like a rickety ladder.

_Like a rickety ladder._

Beatrice really didn't think about her actions. She just went along with the instinct that told her climbing the garden wall was the correct thing to do. By the time she reached the top not only were her knuckles bloody, but so were multiple fingertips where the tops of her fingernails had been ripped away from losing her grip. "How did Wirt and Gregory ever manage to climb this?" Beatrice wondered as she walked carefully along the length of the wall.

She didn't know what she had been expecting once her goal of reaching the top had been accomplished. Maybe a part of her hoped there would have been another world waiting, but it was still the same as it always looked. The wall wasn't all that long and Beatrice had been around it several times in her sixteen years, but she had never been to the top and disappointment flooded her at the landscape being unchanged from her new position. "What am I doing? I'm such an idiot." She wanted to cry, but kept her emotions in check and decided that to stop those tears from falling, she would have to remove herself from disappointment.

Slowly she crouched down and went to place her foot onto one of the extended bricks, but clumsily lost her grip, causing her weight to sway in the opposite direction. Beatrice tried to bring her hands back to the wall for support, but was already falling and as her body rushed up to meet the ground on the other side, she let out a scream that transformed into a whimper. The snow she landed on wasn't the nice fluffy kind. Instead it was the hard packed kind that made her see stars upon impact. She couldn't be sure, because her whole body ached, but there were definitely parts that hurt more than others and she worried that maybe something had been broken. "How am I going to get out of this one? Now mother's going to send me away for good," she chided herself.

"Beatrice?!"

The shocked voice that said her name was familiar. She should have known, having spent all afternoon listening to it. "Wirt?" Beatrice squeaked out with just as much surprise.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: If this was a real work of fiction I would probably try to develop Aunt Mary and Cousin Louisa better, but it's not and I know why you're all here reading this anyway, so I'm going to focus more on the two characters you (me) actually care about.


	8. Chapter 8

Wirt went to the cemetery every day during his winter vacation. He was there so often that the groundskeeper took notice and the two were now on a first name basis. Although, Wirt hadn't given his real name. He wasn't sure why he lied. It wasn't as if going to the cemetery everyday was illegal … just weird. Still Wirt knew the middle-aged groundskeeper as Marty and he knew him as Walt. Yeah, it wasn't such a stretch from Wirt, but he'd panicked and as a result whenever Marty saw Wirt he'd joke, "Hey, now don't go digging up any of these bodies, okay now, Walt?" It was morose and made Writ cringe every time, but he faked a laugh to keep on the guy's good side. Wirt was pretty sure Marty was inebriated most of the time anyway.

Sometimes Greg went with Wirt to the cemetery, but mostly his trips there were solo treks. He didn't want to keep his brother outside for as long as he wanted to stay and honestly didn't want the distraction either. Greg had a habit of wandering away and forcing Wirt to go look for him. That usually led to finding his brother deep in a one sided conversation with some mourner who just wanted to be left alone.

Beatrice's long absence of tapes had only become worse during Wirt's break and it had started to make him slightly crazy. When he didn't find a new tape or even photos, he would just sit, sometimes for hours in the cold, hoping maybe something might appear. Wirt really didn't know how the magic worked, if she could only send him things when he wasn't there and vice versa, but that didn't stop him from waiting around just to see.

Besides it wasn't as if he had anything more interesting to do. If Wirt wasn't at the wall then he was in his room feeling depressed. He no longer waited for Beatrice to send a tape back to him before he made a new one and as a result there was now a large pile of cassettes ready to go once Beatrice got back with him. The last two tapes Wirt recorded had sadly devolved into him telling her how worried he was. Why wasn't she sending tapes back to him? Didn't she know how much it ate him up when she was silent? In retrospect Wirt had realized he'd come across like a controlling boyfriend and had stashed those cassettes away to be recorded over later.

The day before school was set to begin again, Wirt trudged out to the cemetery, like he always did, in search of something left behind from Beatrice. He waved to Marty who was busy collecting dying flowers from graves and the older man returned the gesture, asking him the same question he did every time Wirt visited. "Nope, not going to be digging up bodies today." Wirt laughed uneasily and then headed towards the wall. Kneeling down, he looked in the direction of Marty and when the caretaker was far enough away, Wirt began digging in the snow near the spot Beatrice always left things. His gloved hands eventually touched the hard surface of the frozen ground underneath and Wirt groaned. Another day with no word from Beatrice.

Maybe she'd grown annoyed with him. It wasn't such an unusual thought considering how awkward he knew he could be. Wirt was used to being the weird friend no one really liked, but tolerated anyway. Yeah, Sara was nice to him, but she was nice to everyone and Wirt was convinced that was the reason he'd been so attached to her for so many years. Maybe he was forming the same unhealthy attachment to Beatrice and should just let it go. God, he had never felt more like a loser than he did at that moment. Not even when he thought Sara and Jason Funderberker were going to listen to his mixtape together and laugh.

Wirt ended up staying at the wall for another hour, not really expecting anything from Beatrice to appear, but not wanting to go home with a defeated feeling sitting uneasily in his gut. With his back against the bricks, letting time pass slowly around him, Wirt resolved to stop visiting the cemetery every day. Maybe he would come back once a week, just to see, but regardless, he knew he had to accept the truth that Beatrice had probably moved on. She didn't need him or Greg anymore and even if it hurt to admit it, Wirt was very aware that he had to stop kidding himself. "I should have never played the clarinet for her," he lamented.

Then in a very uncharacteristic move, Wirt swore as he pulled himself up off the ground. The sky was starting to fade from a midday light blue into the bright colors associated with sunset and he had to get back home. His mom would have dinner ready soon and she had started complaining when Wirt came back from his _dates with Sara _late. With one last glance at the spot where he'd recovered so many of Beatrice's tapes, Wirt walked towards the exit with a heavy heart pressing uncomfortably against his chest, but he didn't get far. After only a few steps, Wirt was startled when he heard a high pitched scream from behind and whirling around, his vision fell on a girl laying in the snow exactly where he had been sitting seconds before. It only took him a moment to recognize that the girl looked very similar to the polaroids he'd memorized of Beatrice. But he wasn't convinced. It just seemed so improbable.

"Beatrice?!" he asked.

The girl was on her back and at the sound of his voice she twisted her head in his direction. "Wirt?" Her voice was a squeak of surprise and the instant she saw him she tried to sit up. Although, the effort caused her to hiss in pain and she fell back down.

After seeing her face and hearing the familiar voice that had spoken to him so many times from his cassette player, Wirt knew without a doubt that the girl in the snow was his friend from over the garden wall. Without a second thought, he ran to Beatrice's side and crouching down, helped her sit up "What-what are you doing here? How did you ... you look like you're in pain. Are you okay?"

"I think … my wrist is twisted or bruised. I couldn't put pressure on it to help me sit up. My ankle doesn't feel all that great either," Beatrice frowned.

"How are you even here?" Wirt asked exasperated, but also delirious with happiness. Without really going over his actions in his head beforehand, he pulled Beatrice into his arms for an embrace, but she hissed again. "Oh, sorry," Wirt instantly regretted his decision and released her. She fell back against the wall with a thud and groaned. "Oh sorry!" he repeated with a grimace.

"No, no, I'm fine," Beatrice replied. "I think I'm just sore all over. I came down pretty hard."

"Came down from where? The wall?" Wirt glanced up to the top of the wall and then back at Beatrice. "That's a pretty significant drop."

Beatrice nodded. "Tell me about it. I climbed to the top, but lost my balance and fell. I don't know what happened after that or how I got here … with you." She shook her head in confusion. "Maybe I'm dreaming. Maybe I fell too hard and now I'm dead. I didn't think it was possible for me to … to be with ... to find you again. I didn't do anything different to cause this."

"You're not dead, Beatrice. You just must have really wanted to be here. That's how I think it worked for Greg and me," Wirt smiled, and instinctively placed one of his gloved hands against Beatrice's freckled cheek before letting it fall down to rest on her shoulder.

Beatrice returned his grin with one of her own. "Yeah, I guess," she finally said after a few moments of silence passed between them where they only stared at each other. Both silent from disbelief, but also joy … at least for Wirt. He couldn't be sure what Beatrice was feeling, probably pain more than anything else.

"Oh my god you're here on my side of the wall!" Wirt suddenly exclaimed, as if realizing the enormity of who was right in front of him for the first time and he let out a noise that resembled a strangled laugh.

"Wirt, Wirt, hey Wirt, are you okay?" Beatrice asked waving a hand in front of his face.

"Yeah, I'm good. I'm sorry. This is just so weird ... I was so convinced that I'd never hear from you again. You stopped sending tapes," Wirt replied.

"Not, because I wanted to," Beatrice said, turning her eyes downward, unwilling to look at him.

Wirt could tell the subject wasn't something she wanted to discuss and he let it go. "Well, it doesn't matter. You're here and also hurt, so I have to get you somewhere out of the cold. Do you think you can walk?"

Beatrice shook her head. "Maybe jump on one foot."

"That's not going to work." Wirt thought for a few seconds and then offered, "Why don't you hop on my back."

Beatrice scoffed. "Wirt, you're not going to carry me."

"Do you have a better idea?"

She pursed her lips and then let out a sigh that ended in a chuckle. "I'll crush your tiny bones."

Wirt shrugged and wanted to say that even if she did crush his bones it wouldn't matter, because she was here and nothing could ruin his day now. "The important thing is that I get you somewhere where we can be alone and I can take a look at your body more closely … or I mean, the injuries on you. That are on your body. I-I have to look at your body to see the injuries."

Beatrice let out a laugh that transformed into a groan. "Stop being such a dork. I think I bruised my rib-cage and I don't want to laugh."

Wirt blushed and didn't say anything in response, too afraid of what he might verbally stumble through next. Instead, he placed an arm around Beatrice's torso and slowly helped bring her into a standing position. Then with a little effort she scrambled onto his back, hitched her legs around his hips, and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Comfortable?" he asked.

"Probably more than you," she replied. "I still can't believe I agreed to this. We're not going to make it very far before you collapse. Bet you wish I was still tiny like a bird." Beatrice buried her face in Wirt's neck and a few hairs that had escaped her bun flew in front of his face, tickling his nose.

"I would never wish for you to still be cursed. Besides I'll be fine," Wirt replied, a little irritated that she didn't have more faith in him. He began to move towards the cemetery's exit, glad Marty wasn't around to ask any questions about why he was carrying a girl on his back. He'd probably say she was a dead body or something.

"Wirt?" Beatrice's head was still buried inside the crook of his neck and he could feel her hot breath trailing against his skin as she spoke.

"Yeah?" he replied.

"I'm glad I found you again," she whispered.

A smile pulled at the corners of Wirt's mouth. "Me too."

Wirt wasn't sure what would come next now that Beatrice had found her way onto his side of the wall and honestly didn't want to think about it anyway. Thinking meant decisions would have to be made and Wirt would rather feel instead of think. He wanted to experience the contentment of having her back without the complications of an afterward. He wanted a now with her and that now had him carrying her on their way to his house. It certainly wasn't similar to any of the scenarios he'd played out in his head of them being reunited, and he had thought of a lot, usually in the moments right before falling asleep. Not that he ever thought any of them would come to fruition. Seeing Beatrice again wasn't something he ever thought would be possible.

"Looks like you scraped up your knuckles pretty badly." Wirt commented as he walked, staring down at one of Beatrice's hands that she had draped over his shoulder and left hanging halfway down his chest. Beatrice lifted that hand out of his line of sight and Wirt assumed she was taking a moment to examine the injury, but when she didn't say anything or place the hand back, he felt the need to investigate further. "Did you hurt them on your way down?"

Beatrice exhaled loudly before answering, "No."

"Then how?"

He heard some nonsensical grumbling behind him before she replied, "I might have … uh …"

"Might have what?" Wirt pressed.

"Punched the garden wall," she finally admitted.

"You punched the garden wall?!" Wirt suppressed a chuckle, but couldn't keep the humor from bleeding a bit into his response.

"Don't laugh at me," Beatrice warned, menace coloring her words.

Wirt quickly went to defend himself, remembering the temper Beatrice had exhibited during their time together on her side of the wall. "I didn't laugh at you."

"Well, your voice sounded amused," she complained.

"That's probably, because I am."

Beatrice pulled on his hair just enough to make it hurt, which only caused Wirt to do exactly what she didn't want. He laughed. "Did the wall do something to upset you?" Wirt teased, not wanting to egg her on, but not being able to control himself either.

"Yeah, it was keeping me away from you," Beatrice replied angrily, but then quickly backtracked. "I mean, I was mad. I was having a bad day, but I don't want to talk about it."

Wirt didn't press further and let the subject drop, but deep down his body was buzzing. He wasn't sure why he found it so pleasing that Beatrice had punched the wall, because she missed him, but he did and despite the weight of Beatrice wearing down his body after a while, Wirt wore a grin on his face the rest of the way home.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note**: just a quick note. I also post this fic to my Ao3 account (link in my profile) and, because ffnet has to be a difficult baby it won't let me post links in my work to things that sometimes pertain to this story unlike Ao3. Anyway, just in case any of you wanted to read over there instead. Thanks for your support. If I didn't respond to your review in the last chapter I'm sorry. I got distracted this week, but I do appreciate all of them.

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><p>It was just beginning to snow when Wirt finally stopped in front of a house that was part of a long line of houses all grouped together in a little community of homes. Each looked very similar to the next and when Beatrice commented on this, Wirt replied with chagrin in his voice, "Welcome to the suburbs." He then walked up to a door on one of the houses and opened it to reveal a room that contained two cars. Beatrice knew they were cars, because she had asked Wirt right away, but when she began inquiring about other things in the room that looked unfamiliar- and there were a lot, Wirt didn't respond. Instead he slowly slumped to his knees and groaned.<p>

"Are you okay?" she asked him.

"Not so much." Wirt's voice was strained.

"I told you not to carry me. Now look at you," Beatrice lectured, but when Wirt replied with a soft noise of pain, she shut her mouth and instantly pushed herself off of him. Her only thought was of elevating the weight from his back as fast as possible and not of what would happen afterward. As a result she fell hard to the ground. It hurt, but Beatrice tried to keep the pain to herself, not wanting to give Wirt any reason to feel guilty. He had done so much for her already. Unfortunately she wasn't able to suppress the whimper that worked its way through her vocal chords and Wirt heard.

"Oh sorry, I should have help-" He turned around to look at her while speaking, but his sentence was cut short when his movement provoked another groan.

Beatrice grimaced, but Wirt tried to reassure her. "No, I'm fine."

"No, you're not," she softly laughed. "You look as awful as you sound, but," Beatrice paused to glance down at herself, "I'm sure I'm not much better. I think we're both broken."

Wirt shrugged. "I'll be fine. I'm just exhausted. When we finally got here it was like all the adrenaline rushed out of my body. You though, I'm not sure how bad you are. I'll have to help you into the house, but you're going to have to hide from my parents and probably Greg too. I doubt he'd be able to keep quiet if he saw you."

Beatrice sent him a tiny frown. "It would be nice to see him, though."

"Maybe later," Wirt offered. "After I've had time to drill it into his head that he can't say a word about you. You know how he is."

"Oh yeah, I remember. All childish enthusiasm without any ability to reel it in." Beatrice made a comical face like Greg's character traits were the worst thing she had ever heard of and Wirt laughed. It was a nice feeling, being able to pull that response from him, and Beatrice felt a small smile of satisfaction tug at the corners of her mouth.

"That was probably the best description I've ever heard of Greg," Wirt complimented and Beatrice shined under his approval.

But when Wirt made a move like he was going to try and stand, Beatrice impulsively said, "Wirt, am I really something that needs to be kept hidden from everyone?" She knew it was a dumb question, but still asked anyway. Emotions were dictating her words and she didn't like it. She didn't like that Wirt wanting to hide her from others made them hurt.

A mixture of expressions traveled over Wirt's face too fast for Beatrice to recognize, but eventually he settled on one she had seen from him many times before … exasperation. "It's not like that. I can't have you be seen right now, because magic isn't the same over here like it is for you and telling my parents you're my friend who came from another world where humans can be cursed into birds, horses talk, and beasts … well, you know. They wouldn't understand. They'd probably send me to a psych hospital and give you to Child Protective Services once they found out you technically don't exist over here. Not to mention my parents _definitely _wouldn't like that I wanted you to stay overnight, because you're too injured to try and climb back into your world. I just turned 16. I can't do that. My mom would kill me a-and your dress … girls here don't dress like that here. How can I explain that away? You just came from playing Juliet in a school play?"

Wirt was getting worked up and Beatrice placed a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to calm him. It worked. Her touched shocked him back into reality and away from all the anxieties inside his head. "You're right. That was a stupid question. I'm the fish out of water here, so I just need to do what you tell me to. I get it."

He sighed and ran a hand through his already mussed up hair. "Sorry. I think I'm just tired. Carrying you wore me out. But believe me, if I could tell everyone about you I would. You're not a secret I want to keep. Just one I have to have right now. I'll work it out, okay? It's not forever." Wirt's eyes moved over to the hand Beatrice had placed on his shoulder. It was the one with the scraped knuckles. When she saw him looking at it, Beatrice quickly hid the injury behind her back. "I have to go inside. Stay here until I come back for you," he instructed.

"It's not like I'm all that mobile anyway," Beatrice replied indicating her ankle, which they both had decided on the walk over there was probably twisted.

"Okay, well then don't punch anything while I'm gone," Wirt teased.

Beatrice scowled and he smiled back, which only made her look of irritation deepen. "Maybe I'll just punch _you _when you get back," she tried to look serious, but couldn't keep a straight face and they both fell into a soft comfortable laughter together.

"I'll be back," Wirt told her as he stood with a groan and then walked through a different door other than the one they had come through together.

"I'll be here," Beatrice replied quietly, but Wirt was already gone and for the first time since her fall from the wall, she was alone. Wirt wasn't there occupying her time and she had a moment to think about something other than the weird happiness that had swallowed her up in his presence, trapping her in a haze of delirium.

Beatrice tried to shake that feeling and look at things from the perspective of someone not lost in their emotions. She was in another world, away from her family and away from everything familiar, everything, except Wirt and Greg. Not only that, she was hurt and solely dependent on one person for help. She should have been worried or at least a little bit anxious about this new unknown, but oddly wasn't. Her happiness wanted to keep her trapped in a world of denial. _There is nothing to worry about, because you're with Wirt now_ - it whispered to her and Beatrice didn't try and oppose its claim. Everything _was _fine now and she was happy after having been very unhappy. That was all there was to think about. Wirt made her happy. The End.

It took Wirt a little while to come back and while Beatrice waited, her eyes searched out all the unfamiliar objects around her. To pass the time she tried to find counterparts from her world to match. She had already decided that where she was now was some sort of barn. Wirt had told her cars were used for transportation like horses and that was where the barn theory came from. Beatrice settle upon a few more conclusions for other items. The rake was easy, because she had those over on her side of the wall, but one thing with a long and large handle had her stumped. Luckily Wirt came back just as she was working it over in her brain. She turned her head towards him as he entered the room and opened her mouth to ask about it, but Wirt spoke first. "Okay, change of plan. We have to move fast. Greg is going to distract my parents, so I can get you into my room, but we have to go now."

"I thought we weren't going to tell Greg."

"Like I said, change of plan. Now hop on my back again." He crouched down with his back to her, but Beatrice shook her head.

"I can't. I'll hurt you even more," she protested.

"Beatrice, you promised to do what I said." Wirt's voice was exasperated again.

"Yeah, sorry," she apologized and grasped Wirt's hand that he had extended out behind him for her to take. Her heart did a little jump as he yanked her unceremoniously onto his back and then proceeded to stand without so much as a groan. Beatrice assumed his adrenaline must have kicked in again. Without asking if she was set, Wirt took off through the door and Beatrice buried her face into the back of his shirt, keeping her eyes closed until she knew it was all over. That happened when Wirt collapsed onto the ground and she went down along with him. They both made noises like they were in pain, but that only made them laugh and Beatrice rolled over onto her side to look at him. "I'm tired of riding your back. Next time we take the car."

"You wouldn't bring a horse into a house would you? Same thing goes for cars," Wirt snorted.

"Actually, I think we did just that before didn't we? Over on my side. Brought a horse into a house," Beatrice reminded him.

"Heh, I suppose you're right," Wirt replied and bringing himself up to his knees, he reached out for Beatrice's hand. She couldn't offer him her twisted wrist, so she held out the one with the damaged knuckles. Wirt didn't say anything about them though as he delicately wrapped her arm around his neck and stood, taking Beatrice along with him. Then she hopped on one foot as he walked her over to a bed to sit.

"Where are we?" she asked, but had already come to the conclusion that it was probably Wirt's bedroom and he replied with an answer that told Beatrice she was correct. It was the pile of cassette tapes in one corner that had been the first clue for her, but she also saw other things that reminded her of him, namely the outfit he had worn while on her side of the wall. The cape was hung inside a closet and the tall hat was stuffed on a shelf above it.

"Here, let me take your boots and coat," Beatrice heard Writ say, bringing her attention back to him.

"Oh yeah, guess I forgot they were still on," she absently replied.

Kneeling down, Wirt pulled one of Beatrice's boots off and then took care to be gentle with the other, not wanting to aggravate her twisted ankle. Once that was done, he stood again and began unbuttoning the front of her coat. If not for her injured wrist, Beatrice would have tried to accomplish the unbuttoning herself, because it unfortunatley caused an awkward moment to pass between them when she noticed and then tried to ignore the blush on Wirt's face. His hands were also having a little bit of trouble performing a task that should have been easy, but wasn't due to trembling fingers. She didn't know why he was being such a nerd about it, but at the same time had to admit that if there was a mirror nearby, she would have probably seen her cheeks glowing red too.

When Wirt had finally finished, Beatrice shrugged out of her coat for him to take, but as she did, the envelope that had been stashed inside one of its pockets fell to the ground. She didn't notice, but Wirt did when he came back from hanging her coat up. "Is this yours?" he asked, but then reading his name across the front Wirt added, "Oh wait, it's for me. From you?"

Beatrice felt a shock of panic run through her body. "No, it's not ready. I was going to leave it at the wall, but changed my mind. Please, don't read it."

Wirt's brow furrowed. "Looks like you got some blood on it," he replied, but then handed it back to her. Beatrice let out a nearly inaudible sigh as she shoved the letter down the front of her dress, thankful he hadn't inquired further. Writing Wirt that letter, intending it to be his Christmas gift, was one thing when she thought there was no chance of ever seeing him again, but it was a very different situation when he was standing right in front of her. Beatrice didn't think she could handle his reaction to it, whether it was positive or negative. At least not now.

"I'll go get the first aid kit from the bathroom. Stay here," Wirt said, seeming to have forgotten about Beatrice's letter.

She sent him a look of disbelief. "What? Do you mean I can't go walking around your house on my injured ankle, saying hello to your parents, because that's exactly what I was planning on doing."

Wirt looked like he was bothered with her response, but then his lips curled into a small grin. With that smile still on his face, he walked towards his door and reached out to open it. Only before he could follow through with that action, it hit him in the face. "Ahhh," he yelled in surprise.

"Oh, hi Wirt. Did I hit you with the door? You shouldn't stand in front of doors. That's what mom always tells me. She says, 'Greg one day you'll get hit in the face with a door if you keep standing in front of them like that'. Oh, hi Beatrice. Wirt said you were hurt, so I brought the first aid kit for you. Mom and Dad use this all the time when I hurt myself. I do that a lot. So, I know how to fix you."

"Greg!" Wirt shut the door behind his brother, anger written all over his face. "I told you to stay out until the coast was clear and I came to get you. You're going to ruin everything." He threw his hands up in the air expressing his frustration.

Greg was already sitting on the bed next to Beatrice, sifting through the box of bandages. "I'm sorry," he said. "But you said Beatrice was hurt. I wanted to help."

Wirt rubbed his nose absently and Beatrice saw a drop of blood beginning to trickle down from one of his nostrils. "Wirt, it's okay. Let's just give him some attention to keep him happy. Besides this is exactly what you said would happen if you told him. Why are you so surprised? Now here," she held out a piece of gauze, "your nose is bleeding." He took it from her and stuffed his bloody nostril shut. "Why _did_ you tell him?" Beatrice asked as Wirt sat down beside her.

"Because," he sighed, "I was thinking of what you told me about your brother Henry. I needed to direct my parents' attention away from the stairway and the only thing that came to me was your stories of how Henry helped you out. Greg was that distraction for us."

Beatrice didn't say anything in reply. His mention of Henry had caused a little ache in her chest to throb. It was the first emotion other than happiness that she had felt since falling into Wirt's world.

"Greg, you're doing it all wrong. You can't just put a band aid on her hand and have that be it," Wirt complained and it was enough to jolt Beatrice away from the guilt she was experiencing.

"I know what I'm doing. Mom taught me," Greg replied in his always cheerful manner, but then added, "Oops," as the box of band aids he was holding spilled onto the floor. Wirt responded with a loud sigh that sounded like he thought it was the worst thing in the world that could have happened.

Beatrice was about to open her mouth to tell them both to stop fighting over her when suddenly a soft knock on the door silenced the arguing brothers. Wirt made a strangled noise of worry and before she knew what was happening her body was quickly being shoved underneath the blankets of Wirt's bed. "Lay down," he whispered, urgency in his tone and Beatrice did as she was told. There was some quick movements from Wirt and Greg outside of the blankets and then she heard the door creak open.

"Dinner's ready," a soft feminine voice said.

"Okay," Wirt and Greg responded in perfect unison.

A few seconds of silence transpired and then the voice asked, "What are you two up to?"

"Uh, n-nothing, well, um, actually Greg was just helping me with this first aid kit. He accidently gave me a bloody nose. W-we were wrestling. You know, boys will be boys, heh." Wirt stumbled through his response and Beatrice cringed.

"Wirt, you know you can't do stuff like that. Your history of bloody noses ..." the voice at the door reprimanded, but with a hint of sympathy mixed in. "Do you need me to-"

"Nope. No. Just fine," Wirt cut her off.

"Yeah, we're fine. Thank you for asking. Please leave a message at the beep. Beeeeeep!" Greg added.

There was a long pause where Beatrice became very aware of her heartbeat, before the voice replied, "Okay, well, come downstairs and eat." The door closed and she heard soft footsteps receding into the background.

"Man that was close," Wirt exhaled loudly as he pulled the blankets away from Beatrice.

"Your mother?" she asked, pushing the strands of hair that had fallen out of place back into her bun.

Wirt nodded. "I guess we have to go eat now, but I'll sneak you something back."

"Thanks." Until that moment Beatrice hadn't been aware of how hungry she was and as if on cue her stomach rumbled causing Wirt to chuckle.

"I'll bring you something too!" Greg chimed in.

"No you won't," Wirt told him. "One person trying to sneak food up here will be hard enough."

"I'll just say it's for Jason Funderberker!"

Wirt rolled his eyes, but didn't continue the disagreement with his brother. Instead, his hand came to rest on Beatrice's shoulder. "I'll be back," he said and for some reason Beatrice's heart did a little flip flop.

"Okay," she replied, but then felt the need to tease. "By the way, the stuffed with cotton nose is a good look on you."

Wirt smirked at her and then taking Greg's hand he led him out of the room.

"Bye, Beatrice!" Greg said loudly from the hallway.

"Be quiet!" his brother hissed, closing his bedroom door shut and Beatrice giggled.

She was alone again, but after all the excitement of that afternoon, Beatrice didn't mind and leaning back on Wirt's bed, she tried to relax. Her eyes began roaming around his room, looking at all the things he had hung on the walls. There was a large image of a group of people Beatrice assumed were musicians, because some had instruments in their hands. There were also a few quotes written on paper that Wirt had stuck to the wall. Beatrice assumed he had taken them from old works of literature or maybe they were his poetry. She wasn't sure. Then her sight fell on the wall the head of his bed was pushed up against. Placed there were polaroids and Beatrice shifted her position to get a better look. That's when she saw they were images of Wirt and Sara together.

Beatrice didn't know why she felt surprised at them being there. The story Wirt told his mother of how Sara and him were still dating was one Beatrice knew about and yet, seeing them together on his wall made her feel stupid emotions again. This time it was one she didn't have any right to feel. Jealousy. With a groan, Beatrice shoved her face into Wirt's pillow and reached her uninjured hand underneath to help push it in closer. She wanted to smother a scream of frustration, but after doing so her hand brushed across something that felt familiar … something that she also kept hidden underneath her pillow back at home. Quickly Beatrice snatched the two polaroids that were there and then a bright smile formed on her face when she brought them out to see. They were ones she had taken of herself and then given to Wirt.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note**: I realize slow burn wips are tough to keep up with, so thanks for sticking with me. Not too much longer, guys. I promise.

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><p>When Wirt came back to his room after eating and getting through his daily dose of strained dinner conversations with the parents, he found Beatrice asleep on his bed. She stirred only slightly when he closed the door and Wirt tried to be quiet as he placed a plate with two pizza slices for Beatrice, down on his nightstand. She was snoring softly and a small amount of drool was escaping her mouth and falling onto his pillow, a sight that amused him simply for its serenity. He'd never seen her so calm. Although, Wirt reminded himself, he had never actually seen Beatrice in her human form in person until that day and even in her disheveled state, she was prettier than any image he'd stared at for long periods of time. That was something he'd done often during winter break when she had stopped sending him tapes. Now she was here, a living, breathing version and not just some flat image hidden under his pillow. It was something Wirt still had a hard time wrapping his brain around. Things had taken a sharp turn so quickly and now Beatrice was actually in his world when just hours before he had believed she was lost to him.<p>

Suddenly she made a little noise like maybe she was dreaming and Wirt debated waking her. He had brought the pizza back to the room for Beatrice to eat, but after everything that had happened, she must have been exhausted. Wirt knew he was and he hadn't been through nearly as much as Beatrice. Maybe after falling from the wall, rest was what her body needed more than food.

While he stared at Beatrice, going back and forth in his mind what to do, she shifted, causing a stray lock of red to tumble in front of her face. Wirt watched as it fell and for the first time really noticed the color of her hair, a red and orange combination he'd never seen before … at least not on someone who didn't have access to hair dye. Wirt didn't think hair dye existed over on Beatrice's side, but he really couldn't be sure. Maybe there was some magic you could use that turned your hair into a fiery red with traces of sun in it. Either way he felt in awe of its color and that poetic side of him felt an itch to compose some verses about the way it looked.

After compiling a short list of words in his head that rhymed with red and Beatrice, Wirt found himself looking past that brilliant hair and onto the face underneath. There were so many freckles, too numerous to count. She'd told him that they made her feel self-conscious, but Wirt didn't know why. If anything they added to her unique attractiveness and he swept the fallen hair away and gently tucked it behind her ear to get a better look. He never would have dared moving her hair if Beatrice had been awake and the thought of her catching him sent a rush of embarrassment through his body. It wasn't enough to stop him though, and once the red strands were moved he looked closely at her resting face.

Before he could really get a good look though, Beatrice grimaced in her sleep and then grumbled like she was upset. This caused Wirt to reel back away from her as he muffled a noise of dread at having been caught in the act of … what? Being weirdly intrigued by his houseguest? He couldn't use that as an excuse and ransacked his brain for anything to say other than, _Hey Beatrice, I just really wanted to get a good look at how pretty you are_, but that was the only thing that came to mind. Wirt briefly entertained the thought of running out of his room to escape the upcoming awkwardness, but dropped that idea knowing it really wouldn't solve the problem. He would just have to be mature and deal with the consequences no matter how bad.

To his utter relief though, she didn't follow up with anything like a yell telling him to get out of her personal space and he figured her irritation had probably been a response to the dream he suspected she was having. Wirt came in close again, but lost his courage, feeling that he was probably being very weird … even for him and decided to just leave Beatrice alone until she woke up on her own. But while pulling away, Wirt's eyes fell on a small purplish circle near her left temple and once he recognized it as a bruise, panic set in again, but for an entirely different reason.

Weren't you supposed to keep victims of head injuries awake?

He wasn't sure how hard Beatrice had hit her head, but the bruise was proof that she had hit it in some capacity and that meant the possibility of a concussion. The exact rules in situations like hers weren't clear in Wirt's memory, but he thought that keeping a person awake after a fall might be important. As someone who injured easily, Wirt had experienced his fair share of trips to the nurse's office at school and urgent cares around town. The no sleep after a head injury rule was something he thought he remembered learning during one of those visits and it meant he was going to have to wake her. "Beatrice," he whispered, leaning down so that he was inches from her face, but she didn't respond. Wirt repeated her name, increasing the volume on his voice, and without warning, she reached out a hand that hit him in the face.

"W-where am I?" Beatrice bolted upright and thankfully for Wirt, he had already moved out of her way.

"Well, you're in my room and you just punched me in the nose," Writ nasally replied, sitting down on his bed. Beatrice's blow had knocked the gauze away and he was pinching his nostrils together to keep blood from seeping out.

Beatrice placed both of her hands over her face and began to rub her grogginess away, but stopped after only a few seconds. "Ow," she complained and the pain in her wrist pushed her into awareness. "Oh, I forgot where I was and thought you weren't real. You sounded funny."

"Trust me. I'm real and so is my nose you just punched." Wirt ran a finger underneath his nostrils to catch any blood, but his skin came back just as pale as it always was without any trace of red. "Guess I'm lucky there's no blood this time."

"That part of your face has been through a lot today, hasn't it?" Beatrice used a teasing tone, but also managed to express sympathy as she reached out her good hand and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Her touch made Wirt slightly uncomfortable, but not in a bad way. "Well, I did promise to punch you before, so there you go." She sent him a wry smile and he sighed, but eventually returned her grin.

"I guess, I shouldn't be surprised considering your desire to punch things. Do you always get so violent with anyone who tries to wake you up?" Wirt replied sarcastically.

Beatrice narrowed her eyes at him. "I was having a bad dream."

"Oh, do you want to talk about it?" Wirt asked, all traces of mocking gone as a guilty feeling crept up on him for being so glib before. "I had those too for a while, bad dreams … you know, after coming back. Mostly about Greg and …" his voice trailed off. Wirt didn't really want to remember those dreams or the actual events they were inspired by.

Beatrice sensed his uneasiness and patted his shoulder. "Just family stuff, nothing like what you're talking about. I think I was dreaming about my cousin Louisa and I must have punched you thinking you were her."

Wirt chuckled. "You want to punch your cousin?"

"You have no idea," she replied. "She's horrible, but … I don't really feel like talking about it right now." Beatrice shook her head and let out a sigh.

Wirt could hear the undertones of animosity that trailed into sadness as Beatrice spoke and even if she said she didn't want to tell him why this cousin deserved a fist to the face, Wirt's empathy kept him from complying. "What did she do to you?"

"I said I don't want to talk about it," Beatrice reiterated more forcefully and suddenly it was like there was a wall between them. This Beatrice, hot tempered and guarded, reminded him of the one he knew before. The one he didn't like at first.

"Uh, okay, but I just wanted to help." Wirt tried to shrug off her rebuff and not take it too personally, but failed. His feelings were hurt and he could see Beatrice recognizing this in him with a wince.

"Sorry, I didn't mean for that to come out sounding so mean. It's only … if I talk about this _thing_ with my cousin Louisa then I'll have to decide what I'm going to do about it and … I don't want to do that right now. I'd rather just enjoy being here. Can't I ignore all my problems back at home? At least for now?" She tentatively reached out her hand, pulled it back and then finally settled it over his.

Wirt stared down at that hand with its injured knuckles and remembered Beatrice admitting how she had punched the garden wall over missing him and it disabled the filter inside his brain that kept him from saying how he really felt, because of fear. "I know what you mean," he responded looking back up at her. "I kind of felt the same way when I found you in the cemetery. I know I can't hide you forever. I have to figure out a plan for an after, but I didn't want to think about it. I was just happy that you were here and that's all I wanted to fit into my head. I-I know it's dumb, but I feel that if I think too deeply about you being here that you'll just disappear and after worrying about you so much when you stopped sending tapes, that's the last thing I would want, because I um, I … like you too much."

Wirt ended up confessing more than he intended and could see a smile forming on Beatrice's face as she recognized what he already had … he was blushing. Quickly he turned away from her to hide his red face. "Okay then. I won't ask you anymore about your cousin or what's going on back home. You can tell me when you're ready and here, maybe some food will make you feel better." Embarrassment was causing Wirt to speak and move entirely too fast and when he reached for the pizza on the nightstand, his quick grip on the plate caused the slices to fall off and into Beatrice's lap.

"Wirt!" she complained. "Calm down. Why are you so worked up?"

"S-sorry, sorry." He didn't answer her question, but did remove the pizza and placed it back on the plate. Then he tossed a dirty T-shirt from the floor at Beatrice to help clean up the mess of pizza sauce and cheese he'd made on her dress. Wirt didn't offer to do it himself even though he had been the cause. In his flustered state he couldn't imagine placing his hands so near Beatrice's thighs. He just walked away to sit on the floor, and placing his laptop on his bent knees, Wirt crouched forward as if to hide himself behind the small device.

"Wirt?" Beatrice said, sounding almost like she wasn't sure of herself.

"Hmmm, yeah?" He peeked up from behind the laptop.

"I … never mind." She looked away from him, her expression unreadable, and settled on the pizzas Wirt had rescued from her lap. They were still somewhat edible and picking one up she started to eat, but was going about it wrong. Beatrice bit down crust first and Wirt wanted to explain to her the more efficient way of eating pizza, but couldn't bring himself to say anything. Instead he kept quiet, locked in a bundle of chaotic emotions.

He was confused. He was embarrassed. He was nervous. And he was reluctant to add anything to what he'd already said. Yeah, he liked Beatrice, but not in the same sense that he had once liked Sara. He'd known Sara for years. She was the only girl he'd ever wanted and him and Beatrice … well, they had only known each other for a few months. It wasn't enough time and it felt nothing like how he had felt for Sara. But still … he had been wrong about her and now he couldn't shake the idea that maybe he was wrong again. Maybe Beatrice was more than just this friend he exchanged mixtapes with.

The sudden recognition that he might be developing feelings for Beatrice was way too much for Wirt to take in and he tried to distract himself with an internet search on concussions. When he finally gathered what he needed, Wirt's panic had subsided enough that he felt he could talk again and Beatrice was just about done with her food. "Hey, I uh, was looking up head injuries on the internet and good news, you won't have to stay awake all night like I thought," he said, glancing up from his laptop.

Beatrice raised an eyebrow as she stuffed the last bit of pizza into her mouth. "Internet? Is that that thing you've been using over there as an excuse to ignore me?" she asked in between chews.

Wirt nervously laughed off her criticism of how he had been treating her and came back to sit down on the bed. "No, this is a laptop and it has a browser that can take me to the internet, because it's connected to my parents wifi and from the browser I can use a search engine …" Wirt paused, taking in Beatrice's dumbfounded expression. "Just er … this _thing_," he held up the laptop in his hands and shook it slightly for emphasis, "can answer any question I write on it."

"And you asked about my head injury? I have a head injury?"

"Well ..." His hand was shaking as he reached for the side of Beatrice's head, but Wirt didn't let it stop him from touching her. He had resolved not to let his awkwardness over his conflicted feelings for Beatrice hold him back. "Right here you have a bruise. I was worried that you'd have to stay awake all night, but the internet tells me I'll only have to wake you every two hours to see if you're okay."

"Does that mean _you_ will have to stay up all night to do that for me?" Beatrice asked.

"It's not a big deal. I was planning on it anyway. You know, to avoid any unexpected visits from my parents. I wouldn't want to see my mom's reaction if she came in here and saw a girl in my uh, bed." Wirt knew his blush had returned at the mention of having a girl in his bed and also at having that girl be Beatrice, but he didn't hide his face this time. He was just going to have to deal with the unfortunate effects of being someone who wore his emotions so blatantly on the outside.

Beatrice didn't seem fazed and Wirt assumed she had probably become used to seeing him flustered. "And what happens in the morning? I know you said you didn't want to think about an after, but are you going to hide me up here until I get better?"

Wirt shook his head. There was sort of a haphazard plan formed inside his brain that really didn't involve anything other than asking Sara for help. He just hoped she would still talk to him. During winter break he had come up with so many excuses to explain why he couldn't hang out with her and their group of friends that he wondered if maybe she had finally given up on him. "I've actually been trying to work that one out," Wirt told Beatrice. "I'm going to ask Sara for help. You remember me telling you about her, right?"

There was a short break in their conversation, before Beatrice finally answered, "The girl you recited poetry about?" Wirt thought Beatrice was trying to tease him, but her words came out sounding harsh, like the thought of him writing poetry about a girl was the dumbest thing she'd ever heard of.

_If only you knew I was writing poetry in my head about you just a little while ago._

"Well, uh yeah, she's my ex and also the only person over here that I've told about you."

"You mentioned me to Sara?" Beatrice sounded surprised and also pleased, but he thought she was trying to mute the latter emotion.

"I told her some things about you, but …" Wirt nervously wrung his hands. "Don't be mad, I didn't exactly tell her the truth. I may have said something about you being … Amish."

"Amish?"

Wirt did a quick internet search to show Beatrice the group of people he had lumped her in with and instead of getting mad she laughed. "Can I use this thing? It looks amazing … like a magic mirror."

"You're not upset about the Amish thing?" Wirt asked as she stole his laptop, not waiting for a yes or a no answer from him.

Beatrice glanced up at him and away from the laptop's screen. "Should I be?"

"I don't know. I thought you might be." Wirt shrugged.

"I guess even if you lied about who I was it's nice to know that you mentioned me at all." She smiled.

"There's one more thing though." Wirt gulped and it felt like he was swallowing a rock. Beatrice raised her eyebrows in curiosity, but he hesitated for a few seconds before answering and it was only the sigh of annoyance from Beatrice at how long he was taking to reply, that provoked him to admit, "I kinda, well … I told her we were dating."


	11. Chapter 11

Beatrice woke to see the red glow of numbers on Wirt's alarm clock and blinked against the brightness of a time that told her it was 5:54. She wasn't sure what had pulled her from sleep, but for once it wasn't the gentle shake of her shoulder from Wirt. His face had greeted her so many times during the night that it had become an expectation, and much to her annoyance, so had him covering his nose for protection each of those times. Beatrice thought it was a little bit dramatic for Wirt to keep shielding his nose whenever he went to check her head injury and eventually had said something to him about it. The night was a bit of a blur for her though, and she couldn't remember exactly which time it was, only that by that point it had happened more than once. "Wirt, I won't punch you, so stop doing that," she had complained.

"Tell that to my nose," was his reply and she sent him a glum expression in response.

Beatrice knew she _could _throw a hard punch. Most of her brothers would attest to that and a tiny amount of sympathy for Wirt began to seep into her. The boy she was with now was a little less rough and tumble than the boys she had been raised with and maybe her hit had traumatized him. To ease him out of that trauma, Beatrice had tried to joke it off by saying, "Well, that was before we were _courting_. Things are different now. I would never punch my suitor."

Wirt had looked at her uneasily at first, obviously not liking the use of their sham dating relationship as a tease, but then his mood shifted away from his discomfort enough for him to sarcastically reply, "Uh, yeah, for as much as I know about you … I think you would." Beatrice had harrumphed, rolled over and gone back to sleep after that comeback.

Following their short interaction over him constantly cupping his nose, Beatrice didn't mention it again and this time, her fourth, maybe fifth stir from sleep, there wasn't a teenage boy with his face partially covered peering down at her. "Wirt?" she whispered and turned her head to the right after hearing a soft mumble.

Her eyes didn't have to search far, because the source of that mumble was sitting on the floor next to the bed with his head leaning against its mattress. Beatrice snorted softly at how adorable Wirt looked sleeping, but then her vision traveled down from the top of his head and to his extended hand resting on the comforter her lower body was under. His fingers were woven into hers and Beatrice's mouth opened in surprise. Her first instinct was to pull away, but after the initial shock wore off, she found herself staring for a long time at the way their hands locked together. For being such an innocent gesture, it felt so intimate coming from Wirt.

Everything else he had done for her since she was injured and became dependent on him, felt similar to what a friend might do for another friend if they were in trouble. Yes, Wirt made everything impossibly awkward that it felt like any act of kindness from him held more weight than it actually did, but Beatrice never took it as anything other than Wirt being …. well, Wirt. Hand holding though … while she slept? Had he been doing this all night and she just didn't know? It all seemed very sweet and Beatrice pushed down the side of her personality that wanted to wake Wirt and embarrass him. That wouldn't have been kind and she cared too much about his feelings to aggravate his sensitive side. He wasn't some brother that deserved a good ribbing for showing affection towards her. He was Wirt and there were a whole different set of rules for her when dealing with someone like him.

Carefully Beatrice slid her fingers from his grasp and then let Wirt's hand fall from the bed. He didn't react much to the disturbance, only muttered again and then fell back into a measured breathing that Beatrice listened to as she laid her head back down against his pillow.

Instead of waking him like she probably should have, Beatrice stared up at the white ceiling above her as an image of the letter she had written Wirt pushed its way into her consciousness. At that moment it was folded up into the blue dress she had placed atop Wirt's dresser. Before Beatrice had gone to sleep the night before, Wirt had offered to borrow her some of his … as he put it, _comfy clothes_, so she could get out of the dress he had ruined with his food fumble. She had taken him up on the offer, but had endured the hard process of dressing alone with only one hand at her disposal. That was fine with Beatrice though when compared with the alternative. The thought of asking Wirt to help her undress wasn't even one she wanted to entertain. She wasn't _that _helpless. Thankfully Wirt was about her size, maybe a little bit smaller, but not enough that it was obvious to her and the letter Beatrice had hidden down the front of her dress was then folded into it. Now she considered the option of letting Wirt read what was written inside that letter.

It was incredibly personal, written at a time when Beatrice had spent hours listening to Wirt's voice to help cheer her up over the unfortunate visit of her mother's extended family. It was part thank you to him, but also part something more than that and even if Beatrice suspected that Wirt might feel the same way as the words she had written into poetry for him, she was afraid that he might not.

Even more upsetting, her wavering on whether or not to give the poem to Wirt made her feel dumb, like she wasn't sure about something when all her life she was so sure about everything. Beatrice was the girl who always knew what she wanted and went for it, even when it was as disturbed as throwing a rock at a helpless bird, but this time … what if that thing she wanted didn't want her back?

Beatrice shook her head. None of it really mattered, because now wasn't the right time to think about Wirt, her letter, or how she maybe was falling for him. If anything she should have been worrying about Sara and how to act Amish around Wirt's ex-girlfriend or even more importantly, what she was going to do in order to get back home … that was if she even wanted to go back home.

But at that moment in time, Beatrice's brain didn't want to let anything else in except for the sleeping boy beside her, the one who had held her hand while she slept. The one who had lied about them dating and the one she now had to pretend to be with romantically. Beatrice was conflicted. She didn't want to pretend. Contrary to the irritation she had displayed to Wirt after his confession of the lie he had told Sara, her heart wanted her dating Wirt to be a reality. Or did it?

"Oh, shut up, Beatrice," she grumbled to her mind. It was thinking far too deeply about things that she didn't want to examine. Next to her Wirt made a noise in his sleep and Beatrice chuckled. "Yeah, you shut up too." Reaching out the hand he had been holding moments before, she moved some hair away from Wirt's forehead, but instantly pulled her fingers away when the bedroom door opened. "Oh, cheese and crackers!" she softly exclaimed and slid underneath Wirt's comforter, trying to lay as flat as was humanly possible.

"Beatrice?" an uncharacteristically quiet voice, at least for the person talking, said and the girl hiding under the covers peered out to see Wirt's little brother standing in the doorway. Beatrice sat up and pressed an index finger against her lips, then indicated a sleeping Wirt by tipping her head in his direction.

Greg gave her a thumbs up to say he understood and tip toed across the room. When he reached the bed, Beatrice offered him her good hand and after he grasped it, she helped him up. "Your parents aren't awake are they?" she whispered.

Gregory shook his head. "Just me. I come in here all the time and wake Wirt up. He doesn't like it."

"So, why do you keep doing it?" Beatrice snickered.

"I don't know." He shrugged. "I'm only seven. I can't be responsible for my own actions." Beatrice softly laughed and Greg crawled into her lap. "Are you going to live here with us now?" he asked.

"I'm not from here, Greg. I can visit, but I'll probably have to go home soon." And as Beatrice said it, she knew her words were true. She would have to go home, despite her reservations about doing so.

Wirt's little brother didn't seem too happy with that news and followed up with a hopeful, "Will you be staying here again tonight?"

She sighed and hugged Gregory tightly before replying. "I can't. Wirt is going to see if I can stay with his friend Sara for the next few days."

"But why?" he whined and Beatrice had to hush him.

"I can't stay here. It's a house full of boys. So gross." She made an exaggerated disgusted face, but couldn't keep it for long before choking on a laugh she had tried to suppress.

"Mom's a girl," Greg provided as a solution. "She's not gross and would like you. I could go get her and you could meet her and you can be friends. She likes to make cookies. Do you like to make cookies?"

Beatrice shook her head. "Sorry, kid. We're not supposed to tell your parents I'm here. I think I have to stick with Wirt's plan and stay at Sara's."

Greg was quiet for a few seconds and then letting his disappointment go, he replied, "That's okay. Staying with Sara won't be as great as here, but I like her. She's nice. She would always give me candy whenever she came over. Maybe she'll give you candy too. She was Wirt's girlfriend. Did you know that?"

Beatrice nodded slowly, the bottom of her chin coming in contact with the top of Greg's head. "I did."

"Are you going to date Wirt now?" he asked as straightforwardly as if he was inquiring about the weather.

Beatrice was caught off guard, but Greg was so innocent that she couldn't be shocked for long. "I – I don't know the answer to that one, but what I do know is that you should probably go back to your room and try to sleep.

Greg shrugged out of her arms. "Okay, well, if you _are_ going to date Wirt, then that would be okay. Me and Jason Funderberker talked it over. He says you would be good for Wirt. You make him laugh," Greg said as he slid down from the bed.

"Nice to know I have his approval," Beatrice winked at him, a smile pulling at her lips as she fought another laugh.

"Bye, Beatrice," he said when he reached the door and then closed it a little too loudly, causing Wirt to jolt awake.

"Who was … who was that?" Wirt rushed to his feet, but swayed slightly and then muttered, "Ohhhh." There was a faraway look in his eyes and seconds later, he came crashing down onto Beatrice.

She wasn't hurt, but Wirt was in a position over her body that placed his head against her chest and after the surprise wore off, Beatrice pushed him beside her instead. She didn't want to shout, but never having experienced someone fainting before, which was what she assumed had happened, his still body unnerved her and the volume of her voice as she called his name rose to a level Wirt probably wouldn't have approved of.

But he wasn't out for long. After a few good shakes to his body that weren't as gentle as the ones he had used to wake her, Wirt opened his eyes. "Always so violent with me." He sent her a crooked grin while pulling himself into a sitting position.

Beatrice folded her arms across her chest in contempt. "Don't joke. I was worried."

"Heh, sorry." His grin turned sheepish. "Did I faint?"

"I think so. Does that happen a lot?"

"Ehhh, sometimes. Usually if I stand too fast … or stay in the sun too long, or uh, basically do anything … actually it happens all the time," he replied and then glanced at his closed bedroom door. "Was someone in here before, I, uh, fainted?"

"Just Greg, but I told him to go back to bed," Beatrice informed him.

Wirt sighed with a hint of exasperation coloring his exhale. "He's _always_ doing that. I wish I had a lock on my door."

"It's okay. He only had adorable Greg things to say. Besides better him than your parents."

"Yeah … sorry I fell asleep." Wirt frowned in apology. "Last thing I remember I was slapping my face trying to stay awake."

Beatrice couldn't hold herself back and mocked, "Like your face needs anymore help being red." Then reaching out a hand, she gently slapped his left cheek a few times.

Wirt batted her hand away. "Cut it out," he grumbled shyly and Beatrice chuckled. "So, I should probably go get ready for school now," he said, glimpsing at the clock on his nightstand. "I leave for the bus stop in an hour."

The night before, Wirt had explained that it would be better if he asked for Sara's help in person and that meant Beatrice would have to be stuck alone in Wirt's home for hours while he went to school. She didn't really like the idea, but also had promised to go along with what he said, because she didn't have a plan of her own to counter his. Wirt must have seen something in Beatrice's face that expressed her feelings, because he felt the need to add, "It's not long and you'll have the whole house to yourself. You can go anywhere you want."

"Yeah, I'll make sure to run sprints up and down the stairs on my twisted ankle," she replied sardonically.

Wirt looked amused by her response. "I, uh, wouldn't advise that, but if you feel the need."

Beatrice thought that maybe her personality was beginning to rub off on Wirt and despite his quip upstaging hers, she felt a slow smile beginning to grow on her face. "Whatever, nerd," she retorted, trying to hide her grin by turning her face away from his.

He just laughed and left the room, coming back a few minutes later with a rectangle. Unlike all those others he had left at the wall for her, this one was edible and came in a silver package of two. "Breakfast," he explained and bit into one, then offered the other to her. The two of them sat side by side, eating in comfortable silence and as the taste of the sweet rectangle hit her tongue each time she took a bite, Beatrice had to admit that food on Wirt's side of the wall was much tastier than anything her mother cooked.

When Wirt was finally ready to leave an hour later, he walked to the door of his room and said to Beatrice, "My stepdad's already gone and my mom goes to work after she puts Greg on the bus. That's not too long from now. After that you won't have to worry about staying quiet in here and I'll hopefully come back with Sara around 2:45."

Beatrice nodded, but also frowned, an expression she couldn't seem to fight off. Wirt hesitated at the door after seeing the look on her face and then came back to the bed she was sitting on. "Hey, if you want to waste your time on something while I'm gone, you can listen to all the tapes I made for you over break." He pointed at a stack of cassettes that were beside their player in a corner of his room. "If anything it will show you just how miserable I was when I didn't think you were going to be in my life anymore … not that you were physically here, but you know … your tapes, uh, they … they were my favorite part of the day when you did send them."

Beatrice's frown pushed upward into a small smile. His earnest admission made her heart flip and as she stared into his brown eyes a little emotion stimulated her desire to do something reckless … so rash that she held back. Again the girl who always went for what she wanted used discretion and decided kissing Wirt probably wouldn't have produced the reaction in him that she wanted.

"Wirt, hurry up. You'll miss the bus!" A voice yelled from somewhere outside his door and consequently broke the spell between them.

"Gotta go," he said to her and moments later, Wirt walked out the door, leaving Beatrice alone with her very conflicted emotions.


	12. Chapter 12

Wirt was well aware he was the type of guy who would never be known for his athleticism. That just wasn't ever going to be in the cards for him. In fact, he was so - as his mom put it - fragile, that she had obtained a doctor's note so he could sit out most gym class activities. That was a happy day for him freshman year when he had delivered that note to the school nurse. Some of the larger kids in his class had taken to using him as a target during dodgeball. He did not miss dodgeball.

This lack in any discernable muscle mass on Wirt, meant carrying a teenage girl on his back for nearly 20 minutes the day before would be something his body would feel greatly the next morning. And it did. Wirt was miserable. His back was sore. His legs were weak and he was also experiencing the all over ache of someone who hadn't slept much. The painkillers he'd taken after breakfast had reduced his suffering, but had unfortunately made him even sleepier than he already was. Getting through the next 7 hours, trying to pay attention in his classes, was going to be a challenge.

But as he rode the bus to school, Wirt was able to push away all the negative thoughts he had about how he felt physically by reminding himself of what had happened between him and Beatrice. Actually nothing significant had happened between them, but there was a moment before he left to catch the bus that he thought maybe … there was something? He couldn't really put his finger on it, but there was a feeling that had pulsated between them, an energy that had connected them and … Wirt sighed as he leaned his head against the cold glass of the bus window. He was being too poetic about that whole thing. Maybe it hadn't been anything for Beatrice at all, but after he had told her that he wouldn't mind if she listened to his tapes of desperation for her, Wirt wanted to uh … what? Kiss her? He didn't know the first thing about kissing. Maybe just hold her? That sounded too weird. Whatever that thing between them was, one-sided or not, it had replaced the indecision he felt about his feelings for Beatrice. Even if there was little resemblance to how his crush on Sara had felt, Wirt was very certain that he was attracted to Beatrice.

But really that wasn't anything new. He'd been impressed with her attractiveness since viewing that first polaroid. The difference was him admitting that all those things he had found appealing in Beatrice's tapes were even greater in person. He was attracted to who she was inside. It was in the way she made Wirt feel about himself. He could be who he was and she might crack jokes, but that was how she showed affection. He realized that now. It was her way of mentioning the things that made him feel abnormal and saying they weren't that big of a deal to her. She didn't care that he was this weirdo kid who got bloody noses, played the clarinet, kept journals of poetry, fainted occasionally and …

_wow, there are so many things about me that aren't considered normal ..._

But none of that mattered to her. Beatrice liked him for who he was and Wirt remembered that little lesson he'd written down in his journal nearly two months before … _things aren't always what you expect them to be_. Wirt never expected that the little bluebird who tormented him at first would actually turn out to be a human he would want to date. That was something he could have never predicted, not just that she was human, but that she would turn out to be so ... likable.

All through first period, Wirt tried to stay awake by thinking of Beatrice's face and its many expressions; the softness it displayed while she slept, the amusement in her eyes whenever she teased him, the way her nose scrunched up when she was upset, but above all, the pull of her lips upward as she expressed her happiness with a smile.

However, as time slowly dragged on, even Beatrice wasn't enough to keep him from dozing and when Algebra turned into English, Wirt was glad for the distraction of a class change. Even better, it was a period he shared with Sara and that meant he would have the opportunity to talk with her about Beatrice.

There were no assigned seats in English, so when Wirt entered the classroom, he spotted Sara chatting with one of her friends from _their_ group, and slid into the desk next to hers. "Hey," he casually said, like everything was normal, and he hadn't spent their two weeks away from school ignoring her.

At the sound of his voice Sara twisted her head to look at him and smiled."Wirt?!" she said in surprise. "Glad to see you're alive. I was beginning to worry. You were sick all through break."

"Heh, yeah … I, uh, well … I ..." he stammered, his sleepy state keeping his head in a fog and unable to find a suitable response to uphold the lie he'd used to decline all her invitations out.

"Wirt, it's okay. I was just joking," Sara chuckled, leaning across the aisle to pat his knee. "I'm glad you're okay though. That must have sucked being so sick during Christmas."

Wirt nodded and then tried to fight, but then couldn't hold back a yawn. "Sorry," he said through it. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

"Is Greg still waking you up in the morning?" Sara asked. She knew, because it was something Wirt had shared with her when they dated.

"At least twice a week, but it's not, he's not why I'm tired. It was, um … remember that girl ... the one I was writing letters to and then sending polaroids?"

"Your long distance Amish girlfriend? The one from Pennsylvania?" Sara's eyebrows rose in interest and she leaned in even closer.

"Well, uh, yeah, but she's not exactly Amish." Wirt had decided after quizzing and then hearing Beatrice's flubbed responses about the Amish that he would have to come up with another excuse for her lack of understanding in modern technology. He had offered to help her study an online article about the religious group he had associated her with, but Beatrice had seemed more interested in watching cat videos on his laptop once she discovered they existed.

Sara looked confused with his denial and began to say, "Not Amish? I thought you-" but Wirt interrupted her.

"Well, I never exactly said Beatrice was Amish, only that she was something _like_ Amish. Her family is extremely conservative. No TVs, smartphones or computers in her house. She can only wear dresses and her mom home schools her," Wirt lied, although there were bits of his story that contained shades of truths.

"Wow, that sounds downright archaic," Sara remarked, then slowly one corner of her mouth twitched upward. "So, your _not Amish_ girlfriend is the one who kept you awake last night?" The way she spoke hinted at something embarrassing for Wirt and he could feel his larger than average ears becoming hot.

"No, n-no … _no_." He shook his head. "That's not what I meant. She's visiting and didn't get here till late last night. Then I fought with my parents, because they said she couldn't stay at my house. It's just a mess. They're being so unreasonable." Wirt let out a sigh like he was frustrated with his mom and stepdad, but he felt more frustrated with himself. His talk with Sara wasn't going exactly as smoothly as he'd hoped. Nothing ever did for him.

Sara observed Wirt with suspicion, but whatever questions her expression alluded to, she left them unsaid. "Oh, that doesn't sound good. Weird time for her to be visiting though. Can't do much if you're in school most of the day."

"Yeah, heh," Wirt pulled out the collar of his shirt, trying to relieve the heat he felt from nervousness. He was screwing this up so badly. "It was sort of unplanned." And it had been. He'd never expected Beatrice would fall into his world or that he would have to make up lies for her.

"What do you mean?" Sara asked.

Wirt audibly gulped. "Her p-parents went out of town for a, uhhh … family emergency aaand Beatrice, she took a bus here to see me. Her parents don't know. She's only planning on being gone while they are."

Sara's eyes widened in shock, but then she let out a soft chuckle. "I never thought you'd be the type to get mixed up in … I don't know, some sort of Romeo and Juliet scenario."

Wirt grimaced and let out a wry laugh. "Please, don't mention a couple whose relationship ended, because they both died." For him, after everything he'd experienced over on Beatrice's side of the wall, it didn't seem like such a far stretch.

"I know you like to be dramatic, Wirt, but that was Shakespeare. It won't be _that_ bad for you guys," Sara reassured him. "Really though, you had to have known it was going to be difficult dating someone living out of state. Long distance relationships always are."

"Yeah, I didn't intend on her and me ..." Wirt trailed off, recognizing that his words weren't lies anymore. He really hadn't intended on developing feelings for Beatrice and maybe they hadn't developed for her, but for him … he'd already fallen. "It just sort of happened and circumstances aren't the best right now. Hopefully that will change."

Glancing away from Sara, his eyes searched out the classroom clock and Wirt noticed that there wasn't much time before their teacher would take his place at the podium to lecture. He had better get to the point of his conversation with Sara before that happened, but just as he was about to turn his attention back to her, Sara asked, "Is there anything I can do to help while she's here? I might be able to relate considering you and I dated. Although, my dad isn't quite as strict as her family sounds, but still if your parents are giving you a hard time about her, she might need some support."

A heavy weight felt like it was suddenly being lifted from Wirt and he almost moaned in relief. Sara was making this easier for him by offering her help before he even had to ask, but of course, it's what he should have expected. That was just Sara, willing to help anyone even if she didn't know them. "Actually, I was going to do just that. Ask for your help," Wirt said.

"Oh really? What do you need me to do?"

"Well, can Beatrice stay at your house for the next few days?" He asked his question in one long drawn out breath, hoping that talking fast would confuse her into saying yes.

But Sara didn't look confused by his words at all and didn't seem upset either. She was quiet for a few seconds, probably mulling over some things in her head, but finally replied, "I don't think that should be a problem. My dad's always too busy to notice anything anyway, you know … single parent syndrome, and even if he did, I doubt he'd care. So, yeah, Beatrice can stay in the guest bedroom."

* * *

><p>It wasn't exactly as if Sara was rich. She did go to public school after all, but Wirt's ex was also the only child of a successful lawyer who had lost his wife when Sara was only four. That meant he spoiled his daughter, but she never took it for granted. Wirt seemed to think it was what had shaped her outlook on life. Sara had a lot, but didn't have the one thing she wanted most, a mom. This gave her an appreciation for everything she did have and Sara made sure to spread the wealth around to her friends. This also meant that on her sixteenth birthday, Sara had received a car. She was one of only three other students in the sophomore class that could claim this privilege.<p>

But, Wirt also learned that having a dad who lavished you with presents to make up for the fact that he was a single father who worked often, meant Sara had little fear of him punishing her. When she had suggested they pick up Beatrice during lunch and just skip the rest of their classes, he'd stared at her blankly like it was a joke. Sara had been serious though and when she gave him a reproachful look, saying, "Are you really so concerned about not breaking the rules? You're dating someone who ran away from home to visit you." He couldn't really argue with that.

Even if it pained him to do something against the rules, Wirt loaded into her car when all the other sophomores were heading to the cafeteria. "Should we pick her up something to eat?" Sara asked as they drove off the school's property.

"Well, she likes pizza," Wirt suggested and Sara had him call in an order that they would pick up on their way to her house.

When they finally reached Wirt's, he suggested Sara stay downstairs while he went to get his _girlfriend_ and she agreed, turning on the TV to occupy her time as she waited.

"Beatrice!" Wirt called when he reached the top of the stairs, but after looking inside his bedroom, he found it to be empty. Saying her name again, only louder, he heard a voice coming from the bathroom down the hall, or as Beatrice liked to call it, the inside outhouse.

"Wirt? What are you doing here so early?" She poked her head out into the hallway briefly and as he approached, Wirt noticed that her hair seemed a richer and darker red. On closer inspection though he realized it was only wet … and down. He hadn't seen it out of a bun before and the way it looked on Beatrice was like seeing her beauty at a whole new angle. When she pulled her head back inside the door frame, Wirt's only goal was to get to her, so he could stare some more.

Entering the bathroom, Wirt found Beatrice sitting on the sink counter, still wearing his sweats and pulling a brush through her very long and wet hair. Without warning his brain's filter disabled and he breathed almost dreamily, "Your hair looks so nice down like that."

Beatrice made an embarrassed face and then laughed off his compliment. "Okay, thanks, I guess."

"Sorry," Wirt backpedaled. "I didn't … I'm sure that sounded creepy."

She considered his words, then shrugged and when Beatrice replied her voice actually sounded pleased. "No, not creepy. I just like to give you a hard time. Besides, I know how good I look." A smile slowly lit her face and Wirt had to fight the urge to tell her how pretty he thought that was too.

"I just … you look different," he clarified. "Just thought I'd let you know it was nice." Wirt was blushing.

"Aww, well, you _don't_ look different," she pointed out, "but I tend to like the messy, just got out of bed hair that you always have."

"It's not easy to pull this off either. It takes so much effort to get this hairstyle just right," Wirt teased and they both laughed.

"So, why are you here early?" Beatrice repeated her question from before and continued to brush out her hair.

"Oh, yeah!" Wirt hit his forehead, remembering that his reason for being home wasn't just to tell Beatrice how pretty she was. "I'm skipping school with Sara. She's downstairs. We're going to take you to her house now."

"Now?" Beatrice sounded anxious, and Wirt tried to calm her.

"Don't worry. She's cool and really wants to help. Although, you should know you're no longer Amish."

Beatrice sighed, "Well, that's a relief," and Wirt gave her a quick rundown of the new false story he'd told Sara. She nodded when he reached the end. "Sounds easy enough to remember, but we're still dating right?"

"Yeah, I couldn't explain that one away." He ruefully grinned.

"That's okay. There are worse things out there than being your girlfriend," Beatrice replied, giving her hair one last run through before placing the hairbrush down that Wirt assumed was his, but he couldn't remember that last time he'd used it. "Can you help me walk? It was awful hoping on one foot to get in here."

"Oh, yeah, sure," Wirt replied and Beatrice reached her arm around his shoulders, so he could help her down from the counter.

Wirt tried to suppress a groan from the pain she caused in his already sore muscles, and wrapped an arm around her torso. For a split second his hand came in contact with the exposed skin of her stomach as the shirt she wore pushed slightly upward and Wirt felt himself growing hot. Beatrice didn't notice or ignored it and he was thankful that there wasn't a tease from her trying to push his buttons. So many of his buttons were already being pushed as it was and all of them made him frustrated with a longing for her.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: It was fun coming up with a back story for Sara, since there really wasn't much to go on based on the show. I figure she would be the altruistic type, considering how she put up with Jason Funderberker and was still kind to him. Thanks for sticking with me. Not much longer, I promise. If things go according to how it's written in my head, the next chapter should lead somewhere important.


	13. Chapter 13

As Beatrice sat in the back of Sara's car, trying not to be overwhelmed by her first vehicle ride and also the nearness of Wirt beside her, she heard Sara say her name. "I'm sorry. I didn't hear you," Beatrice replied.

"I wanted to know what kind of music you like," Sara reiterated from her seat up front. "You're the guest. You get to pick the music."

"Ummm …" Beatrice looked to Wirt for help, but he seemed as oblivious as her. It was while looking at his unsure expression that an answer came to her. The only music she knew from Wirt's world was the kind he put on his tapes. "Wirt sends me songs with a lot of different sad men singing. I like them, but," she paused and sent her friend an apologetic expression, "sometimes they can be too depressing."

"What? You never told me that?" Wirt appeared disappointed. "I thought you liked that music."

"I just said that I did, but, you know, variety would be nice once in a while." Wirt didn't look happy with her response and Beatrice tried to think of a way to make up for the offense she had committed against his musical tastes. "Your clarinet playing is nice too," she enthused, but his frown only deepened.

"Okay, moving on," Wirt said, embarrassment drenching his words.

"Hmmm, Wirt sending you mixtapes of whiny male musicians. That's not like him at all." Beatrice could hear the sarcasm in Sara's voice and she found herself chuckling. It seemed Sara wasn't so different from her. Wirt didn't look happy though. He crossed his arms across his chest and reenacted a scene Beatrice had seen many times from him. He blushed.

"Here, maybe you'd like something more upbeat," Sara suggested and without warning the inside of her car was filled with a type of music Beatrice was unfamiliar with.

But the suddenness of the song caused her to jump and then tumble against Wirt. "Uh, hey," he said shyly, their faces inches from each other. "You're hair … it's ..." Reaching up, Wirt tucked some stray curls back behind her ear.

"Thanks," Beatrice muttered and scooted over to her seat again. "Sorry … about falling on you," she apologized, pushing back the rest of her hair that had fallen out of place. Wearing her hair down wasn't something Beatrice usually did. It was long, with unruly curls that rarely ever stayed in place, but after Wirt had told her how pretty she looked with it framing her face instead of up in a bun, Beatrice wasn't willing to wear it any other way.

Wirt shrugged her apology away and reached over to pull a strap down over her. "It's called a seatbelt," he said, clicking the bottom of the strap into the seat. "Besides it's not your fault you freaked out. Pop music has that reaction in most people with decent music tastes." He shuddered in a comical way.

"Oh, Wirt, you're such a music snob," Sara said, inserting herself into their conversation. The insult had been tinged with friendliness and Wirt laughed.

Sara being able to pull a laugh from Wirt caused Beatrice to feel a slight pang of jealousy, but knowing that emotion was misplaced, she pushed it down into the pit of her stomach. If she was going to stay at Sara's home, Beatrice couldn't start off their relationship by being snippy. It was something her impulsive side might have done before, but now she held back that tendency in her to say things out of annoyance. Sara was helping her out. Beatrice had to be pleasant. "I like this song," she told Sara, trying to be friendly, but not knowing exactly how she felt about the female singer who kept saying she just wanted to party. It was different, and definitely used a lot more instruments than some of Wirt's favorite musicians, but it wasn't necessarily bad.

"Of, course you do," Wirt groused.

"Guess your next mixtape to Beatrice will have to contain some top 40 radio hits," Sara said with a laugh.

"Is that what you want? Songs like this?" Wirt asked her and she didn't detect any spitefulness in his question. He genuinely wanted to know and would probably start adding this different kind of music to her tapes if that's what she wanted.

"It doesn't matter, Wirt. The music is only secondary to your voice anyway," she replied, deciding to be completely honest, even if it made her feel awkward. At that moment, Beatrice wasn't playing the part of fake girlfriend. She was speaking as her own self. The music was nice, but the things he said were what she played over and over in the privacy of her room.

Wirt looked like he grasped that her words were how she truly felt and he smiled. "Really?"

"Well, yeah … are you so dumb that you didn't know that already?" Beatrice grumbled through her emotional discomfort.

Up in the front seat, Sara let out a sound like she thought they were adorable and after that, Beatrice turned away from Wirt to look out the car window. She was pretty sure that her face was red and her pride didn't want either of them seeing that.

While watching the world outside pass by at a fast pace, faster than she had ever seen before, Beatrice wondered if Wirt's question even mattered. When she went back home, it was likely that there wouldn't be any more tapes for her to receive. Her mother would send her away and without Beatrice around to find them, Wirt's cassettes would pile up at the wall.

The thought of this, reminded Beatrice that she needed to tell Wirt what would happen once her body healed enough to climb back over the wall. It wasn't something she wanted to share with him though. After listening to a few of his tapes that morning, the ones he admitted were of him falling into a depression over her, Beatrice didn't think it was in her to break his heart. She wasn't mentally prepared to go through with it … at least not now and having that sort of information over Wirt, seeing an end that wasn't happy for them, pushed a feeling of guilt throughout her body.

That guilt persisted for most of the car ride and it kept Beatrice quiet while Wirt and Sara made conversation. Every so often, Wirt would attempt to bring her back into the mix and she would say something that pertained to the discussion, but Beatrice never offered up anything else. After a while, Wirt stopped trying and that was when another emotion wormed its way in and replaced the guilt. Beatrice became jealous. She was envious of Sara and Wirt's easy rapport. It was obvious they were friends and Beatrice began to imagine a future where she was alone at finishing school and Wirt was here with Sara. She didn't like it.

Once they arrived at their destination, Sara left to get the pizza inside, while Wirt stayed behind to help Beatrice. "What's going on with you?" he asked. "You're acting like you're mad at me. What did I do?"

"It's … nothing. You did nothing," Beatrice replied as Wirt lifted her from the car. "I'm just tense. Sara's intimidating."

"Sara?" Wirt almost laughed. "She's the nicest person I know. You have nothing to worry about." Beatrice didn't say anything in reply and Wirt took it as a bad sign, because when he spoke again his voice was panicky. "Beatrice, I don't know what else I can do. I'm really trying here, but my hands are tied. You can't stay at my house and Sara is willing to help us."

"I know, Wirt. I just have a lot on my mind … and Sara, she's so pretty." After the words were out of her mouth, Beatrice instantly wanted to take them back.

"What does that even mean? You don't want to stay with Sara, because-"

"Never mind. Forget it," Beatrice interrupted and then ordered, "Stop looking at me like that!"

Wirt narrowed his eyes at her and opened his mouth to say something, but a different voice rose above his. "Hey, need some help?"

Beatrice and Wirt glanced away from each other to see Sara heading towards them. Without waiting for a response, she joined Wirt on Beatrice's other side and the two helped her wobble towards the house. "It sucks having a twisted ankle. I had one before," she mentioned to Beatrice as they walked through the door. "Some klutz ran into me while I was wearing my mascot costume. That thing is so big. I didn't even see him coming."

"I think the klutz you're referring to is Jason Fundeberker," Wirt said. "Best night of my life. It was after that I figured you'd probably never want to date him."

Sara snorted. "Rude! The best night of your life was me getting hurt?"

"Well, that's how my mind worked when I saw him as my competition," Writ admitted. "I don't know why I ever worried though. That guy …"

"Yeah, Jason, he's certainly one of a kind."

"Kind of a dork, you mean," Wirt derided.

"Hey, so are you, but I thought you were okay enough to date. Maybe I should give Funderberker a try next."

"Maybe you should," Beatrice cut in, her voice edgy. It was then that her walking companions remembered she existed. Beatrice saw it dawning on their faces that they had been rudely having a conversation in front of her about when they dated. Sara grimaced and Wirt coughed to cover up his embarrassment.

"Hey, why don't you take her to the guest bedroom," Sara told Wirt as she walked towards the stairwell in the foyer. Then turning around, she looked at Beatrice. "I'm sure you want to get out of Wirt's sweats. I'll bring some clothes of mine down. We're about the same size." Without waiting for a reply from either of them, she ran up the stairs and Beatrice thought her hurried pace was probably due to embarrassment. It was a thought that made her pleased.

Thankfully, the guest bedroom was on the first floor, so there weren't any stairs to climb and after Wirt helped her into the room, he sat down beside Beatrice on the bed. The place was pristine, like it was rarely used, and the large bed they shared contained a comforter with a flower pattern that reminded Beatrice of the quilts her mother made back home. As a whole, the bedroom had a soft feminine feel with its many paintings of various garden scenes and landscapes placed upon pale pink walls. It made Beatrice want to puke.

Minutes of silence passed between them and Beatrice eventually felt inclined to say something to Wirt to ease them out of it. She assumed her embarrassing him was the reason he kept quiet. Once her mouth was open though, she couldn't fight the urge to rub salt into his wound. "So, you knew exactly where this room was. Did you and Sara ever … come in here and …" Beatrice sent him a pointed stare, knowing she was being malicious, but it was almost like another person was doing the talking for her.

"And … what?" In the span of a few seconds, Wirt's gaze turned from one of questioning to understanding to then one of _really_understanding. He started to make noises that sounded amused, but Beatrice wasn't sure, because he didn't look amused … not at all. "W-ha-haaat … thaaat?" Wirt finally said, his voice rising to a pitch she had never heard from him before and then devolving back into strange noises again.

Beatrice winced. It was agonizing watching Wirt's reaction to her question. Even worse, she knew it had been provoked by jealousy. That was a petty emotion he didn't deserve to feel the brunt of. "Wirt, I'm sorry," Beatrice cut into his nonsensical stammering. "I shouldn't have asked that. It's none of my business and I don't think I want to know the answer to be honest." Reaching out, she placed both hands on his shoulders and using her good one, Beatrice squeezed, in an attempt to pull his attention back to her. When the fear began to slowly leave his face, she lowered her hands and tentatively asked, "Better?"

Wirt responded to her question with a sharp intake of breath that he held for longer than Beatrice thought was healthy. "Wirt! You're going to pass out!" she shouted and forced the air out of his lungs with a punch to his stomach, using her bandaged hand.

"Ow," he whined, but after a few seconds, Wirt finally seemed like he was back to normal. Although, coming back down from the panic in his head meant the realization that he had acted like an idiot. Wirt covered his face with his hands in humiliation, issuing an apology to Beatrice through his fingers.

"Okay, but can you say that while also looking at me," she asked.

"Sorry," Wirt repeated, lowering the mask he'd created of his hands and Beatrice felt relieved to hear clarity finding its way back into his voice. "I overreacted like I normally do." He let out a single hard laugh that sounded bitter. "But this is you. I've talked to you about Sara before … well, my tapes did, but that doesn't matter, because I shouldn't care."

"Wirt, you don't have to-"

"No, it's fine and … I never did anything with Sara in here or … at all," he sighed. "Maybe I'm embarrassed less with the subject you brought up and more with my lack of anything when it comes to uh, dating and the things that couples do …" He let his words hang in the air between them and a heavy silence settled in.

Beatrice mentally scolded herself with the type of words that were usually reserved for people like her aunt. She completely regretted the dumb question that had caused Wirt's panic attack. The jealousy that had caused it wasn't an emotion she had a right to feel. She wasn't with Wirt and Beatrice had created stress for her friend, because of her dumb insecurities. To help deflate the awkwardness left in her question's wake, she decided to put herself on equal footing with him. "I've never either … kissed anyone … or courted even," Beatrice admitted. "Back home, girls my age are typically groomed by now to find some man to marry, but I never wanted that. I still don't."

"You don't want a boyfriend?" Wirt asked, sounding like a sad child who had just had his favorite toy taken away and Beatrice couldn't help, but laugh in his face. It was a response Wirt appeared irked by.

"I like boys, but I don't see why I have to act a certain way to get them to like me back and I definitely don't think I have to marry one if I don't want to," Beatrice explained, a flush of anger passing through her.

"I-I don't think you should have to change for anyone," Wirt said with such earnestness that it caused a small smile to pull at Beatrice's lips.

"Yeah, I don't think so either. I am who I am … punches and all," Beatrice joked and faked like she was going to hit Wirt. He reeled backward and at first she thought he was just playing along, but second guessed it after seeing the serious look on his face. "I wasn't really going to punch you," Beatrice said.

"I know," Wirt replied defensively. "But you have to admit your track record doesn't exactly bode well for me."

Beatrice sighed and let her vision fall to her hands in her lap. When she continued to talk her voice was somber. "You know, I did change for you though."

"Huh?" was Wirt's less than articulate response and Beatrice chuckled.

"Well, I changed for myself, but you and Greg were the ones that pushed me in that direction. I realized I didn't always treat others, uh ... nice, you especially, so I made a choice to work harder on that part of me that tends to be unpleasant to others. I know I have a long way to go, but at least I'm trying." Beatrice was still looking at her hands when she saw Wirt reach out to grasp one of hers. He then laced his fingers through that hand just as he had done the night before. The sight of their fingers entwined, coupled with the feel of his skin against hers, gave Beatrice the courage to lift her head back up to Wirt.

"Well, you haven't changed all that much," he said. "You're still you. You're still the Beatrice I first met … a little more human, but still the same. You just made a choice to be nicer, but you couldn't have done that if it wasn't already in you. I don't think people can change if the quality they're looking for isn't inside them at all." Wirt paused and his expression changed from thoughtful to sheepish. "Heh, did that sound as lame to you as it did to me?"

Beatrice giggled. "Not at all. Very inspiring."

"Now you're just messing with me," Wirt rolled his eyes.

"No, I'm not," Beatrice refuted, trying her hardest to sound sincere, but coming across as petulant instead and after that, Wirt seemed to accept that she was telling the truth.

Silence passed over them again, but it wasn't like before. There was no awkwardness to it. Beatrice and Wirt simply stared at each other, waiting. For what, she didn't know, but then she felt his hand trembling in hers as he released his hold, bringing his fingers up to gently touch her hair. Part of Beatrice wanted to make a joke and ask if he would like to braid her hair. Another part ... the one that was causing her blood to rush through her veins at a rapid pace, wanted him to place that hand around her neck and bring her in for a kiss. But whatever Wirt was planning on doing, he lost his courage. She could see it drain from his eyes and then he lowered his hand.

But Beatrice wasn't willing to lose the moment. Letting emotions dictate her actions, she imitated what she had visualized Wirt doing to her. Pulling on his neck, Beatrice brought his mouth to hers for a kiss.


	14. Chapter 14

_Wait … what? Am I kissing a girl? Is she kissing me? What do I do? Should I open my mouth? No, that's too um, I don't know how to do that stuff. I don't know how to do any of this stuff. Should I put my arms around her waist, her shoulders, in her hair? Wow she smells amazing._

"Wirt?" Beatrice's mouth was still pressed up against his as she spoke, making the sound of his name mumbled.

"What?" He jerked away, expecting a backlash. That was how things usually worked for him. She would probably tell him he was a terrible kisser.

"Why aren't you kissing me back?" She sounded mad, but her face betrayed her voice. Beatrice looked hurt.

"Wait, wasn't that … was I not doing that?" Wirt let out a nervous chuckle, provoking a low growl of irritation from Beatrice.

"No, you were _not _doing that. You weren't doing anything. I put myself out there and just … nothing," she huffed.

Wirt knew Beatrice well enough by now to read the cues of her body language as opposed to what she said. The anger she displayed was only there to disguise her pain and his heart sank. He didn't want to hurt her. That was the last thing he wanted. "I'm sorry. You surprised me and I sort of got lost in my head. I was over analyzing it and I guess ..." Wirt paused, trying to gather together the little bits of courage he knew were hidden somewhere inside of him. Occasionally he called upon this fraction of his personality, but it wasn't often. The last time had been while facing The Beast. Somehow, even if he knew his situation with Beatrice wasn't as grim as that, it felt like it was. Maybe even worse. "May I ... can we try that again?" Wirt asked once he found the nerve.

"You mean you want to?" The crease in between Beatrice's eyebrows disappeared as her eyes widened.

"Of course, it's … well, if I'm being honest, it's something I _have _thought of before." Wirt was sure that he would start blushing. It was as normal as breathing for him. Say something potentially embarrassing, expect a flushed face. But the normal creep of red he felt so often during his life didn't appear. He'd found his courage to finally say what had been on his mind since recognizing he liked Beatrice more than a friend and he wasn't embarrassed; not at all.

"Really? You thought of kissing me before? When?" Beatrice asked, her face expectant.

Wirt glanced away momentarily, feeling uncomfortable. Should he confess that he instantly thought she was beautiful? Would that be too weird for Beatrice? "Uhhh … actually can we just skip the part where I admit I've had a crush on you since seeing your first batch of polaroids?"

"What?!" Beatrice looked shocked at first, but that quickly transformed into a pleased expression and as her smile grew, so did his courage.

"Yeah, I thought you were, well ... attractive, but when I found you yesterday in the snow, I was able to put together the two parts of you I like best, your pictures and your tapes. You weren't this unattainable voice from a tape player anymore. You were real and it made me realize that I really like you." His words were clear and he didn't stumble once. Wirt attributed Beatrice for his ability to say exactly how he felt. It was her impulsive nature. If she hadn't made the first move, he probably wouldn't have been able to expose the vulnerable part of him he usually kept locked away.

"Okay, since this is honesty hour I have to say that I feel the same way," Beatrice replied.

"_Obviously_, you kissed me," Wirt laughed and he was shocked at his ability to joke about what had happened. It was Beatrice's fault. She did that to him. She made him feel at ease.

"I did," Beatrice admitted proudly, "because you weren't going to. Please, don't tell me I'm going to have to instigate every kiss between us."

"Every kiss? Were you planning on making this a regular thing?" And there it was, that ever present blush. For some reason the idea of more than one kiss with her made his head spin.

Beatrice's expression had been playful, but after seeing his reaction she pulled back. "I didn't mean to push you. I'm sorry. I know things are complicated right now. You're right. We should wait."

Wirt shook his head. "I never said we should wait. Don't you know me by now? I'm always in a constant state of flustered no matter what."

"Yeah, I know. It's kind of cute," Beatrice giggled.

Wirt groaned. "Cute? I'm not a teddy bear, you know."

"No, you're not," she replied ruefully. "You're, Wirt, this stupid dork that writes sappy poetry and plays the clarinet, who for some reason, I really like … a lot."

Wirt decided to play along, hoping his tease wouldn't anger her. "And you're Beatrice, this temperamental hothead that likes to punch things, who for some reason, I really like a lot."

To Wirt's relief she wasn't mad. Beatrice only laughed through her response, "That's true. I am all those things." Then her voice turned almost wistful as she said, "We're so different, but that doesn't matter so much, does it?"

Wirt thought for a moment, trying to recall the words of a poem he'd memorized before, then clearing his throat he recited, "If fear was plucky, and globes were square, and dirt was cleanly and tears were glee, things would seem fair. Yet they'd all despair, for if here was there. We wouldn't be we."

"What?" Beatrice said, trying to hold back a laugh, clearly not expecting their conversation to take a turn into poetry.

"It's part of a poem," Wirt replied, looking shamefaced, "by EE Cummings. The words were about opposites. I thought it fit our situation."

Beatrice expression shifted into a coy smile. "Maybe one day you can recite your own poetry about us."

"Maybe," he agreed, not mentioning that while she slept the night before he'd penned a few verses of exactly that. Only then they were just wishful thinking and now … Wirt wasn't sure what they were now. Maybe a prediction for their future.

As Beatrice continued to stare at him, Wirt saw her smile slowly beginning to fade and in its place she wore an expression he could clearly read. This time when she leaned in to kiss him, he was ready. But even if Wirt was mentally prepared the second time around, that didn't mean he knew what to do and the same was true for Beatrice. They were sloppy at first, unsure of how to make kissing work. Both Wirt and Beatrice awkwardly giggled through false starts and once groaned when their teeth came into contact with each other's. He apologized a few times, but shut up when Beatrice told him to, "Stop ruining it by talking."

Hands went out and were moved into various positions. Once Wirt's fingers pulled through a tangle in her hair causing Beatrice to make a small noise of pain. After that he decided to keep his hands out of her forest of curls. Finally after many wrong turns, they settled comfortably into Beatrice's arms being around his neck and Wirt's hands placed on either side of her waist. Then slowly the two were able to find a rhythm of soft kisses that grew bolder as time stood still for them.

Because of that time cessation, Wirt wasn't clear on how long they had been kissing, but there was a moment as their mouths moved where Wirt could sense Beatrice was about to lean herself backwards. As much as he would have liked to go along with her and experience further all the new sensations he was feeling, his brain flashed a warning sign to him. They were still in Sara's house. She could come back at any moment and even if Beatrice and Wirt had been pretending to date, he didn't want Sara to stumble upon a scene that might make her uncomfortable. As cool as Sara could be about things, he was sure that finding her ex in a compromising situation, might not be the best way to keep in her good graces. And he needed to be on Sara's good side for Beatrice's sake. It would take Beatrice at least three days before she would be able to walk on her own again and that was the hopeful prognosis.

"We need ..." Wirt breathed, but was unable to finish his sentence. He just really wanted to keep kissing her.

"We need what?" Beatrice pulled away for a second to speak coherently, but then pressed her lips against his again.

Wirt struggled against what he wanted as opposed to what he needed to do and failed miserably. It wasn't until Beatrice used her arms around his neck as leverage to pull Wirt down that he finally found his voice. "We need to stop!" Wirt said, jerking away to sit up.

Beatrice froze in her reclined position and looked up at Wirt. "Wha-what's wrong," she asked breathlessly.

"We can't do this here. Sara ... she could come in and, and we need … I just need to have a second to calm down." Wirt was falling over his words, not exactly sure how to explain things to Beatrice, but thankfully she seemed understanding.

"Yeah, I guess we got carried away," Beatrice said, sitting up. "I wasn't really thinking." Reaching up with her good hand she pushed her hair out of her face. "You look flushed," she commented on Wirt's appearance after her stray red stands were tucked securely behind her ears.

"So, do you," Wirt pointed out and Beatrice glanced down at her freckled skin. When she looked back up at him, her mouth grew into a smile that ultimately manifested itself as laughter. It was contagious and Wirt found himself joining in. Before long they were both cracking up, but he wasn't sure why. Maybe to shake off the significance of what had happened between them. When he was able to stop laughing long enough to talk clearly, Wirt found himself asking, "What's so funny?"

Beatrice wiped some tears of mirth away from her eyes and then shrugged. "Me, you, us … I don't know. Everything that has taken place since yesterday feels like some weird dream. I'm wondering if what's really happened is that cried myself to sleep and this whole thing is just my mind trying to ease my pain of what will happen when I wake up."

"What's going to happen?" Wirt asked.

Beatrice had a faraway look in her eyes for a moment, before replying. "I'll get in trouble for cursing at my aunt and cousin."

"Hmmm, can't be too bad of a punishment. You probably swear at them all the time," Wirt taunted, but Beatrice didn't appear amused by his playful mocking and realizing he'd stepped over some invisible line, Wirt added, "Sorry."

"That's okay. I know I'll have to tell you about them soon or later. I'd rather it be later though," she sighed.

The room grew quiet for a moment and Wirt wondered what exactly it was Beatrice needed to tell him about her aunt and cousin. It wasn't the first time she had shut him down when he tried to ask about what had happened back at home. Why had she been crying? The thought of that made Wirt angry at this cousin and aunt he didn't even know. In the end though, he put his questions aside and instead asked, "So, what now?"

_How do we come back after an intimacy like that?_

Beatrice looked hesitant, but when a knock at the door made her jump, she answered, "I get changed and we eat some pizza with Sara."

* * *

><p>Author's Note: A shorter chapter than usual, I know, but my week is going to be busy and I didn't want to make the wait long for a new chapter after leaving the last chapter with a cliff hanger. Plus you get just some fluff.<p> 


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